Mythos of a Shepherd
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: Ambassadors from Grass come to Konoha in search of a legendary teacher, yet no one in the village matches their description. However, when it becomes clear that these shinobi bring a tempting offer, the Godaime must make a difficult decision.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story fits into the universe that I created with "Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart" and follows the events of "Flesh and Feelings." That being said, this story reads independently and has a slightly different format than the previous two. For one thing, it takes place largely in and around Konoha, and for that reason it highlights Iruka-sensei's relationship with many more people.

Also, though it remains basically essential to the plot, this story focuses more on what makes Iruka unique aside from his aptitude for survival. However, returning readers, be not concerned. At its core, it's purpose remains the same;: to slowly reveal the character and ability of our favorite sensei while seeking to realistically define the growing friendship between him and Kakashi.

**Mythos of a Shepherd  
**by Swiss

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

The Land of Fire was a beautiful country, rolling and abundantly lush with foliage of every kind. The great trees, guardians of Konohagakure, stretched high in their late summer splendor. They were banners of welcome at the same time they were looming sentries, and they seemed to whisper, _'T__he forest has swallowed greater men than thee,_' in the breath of rustling leaves and the creak of ancient boughs.

Captain Shouda, ambassador of Kusagakure – the Village Hidden in the Grass – reigned in his beast and shifted in his saddle under the heavy blue shadow. He'd been sent here as a diplomat, far from his homeland of endless pasture and mist in the morning and swaying horse-hair grass. He'd been charged with a particular task, he and the men that followed him at a sedate pace.

They moved boldly, not bothering to mask their presence. They'd been sighted hours ago as they drew nearer to Konoha down the only path visitors were welcome. Their lack of concealment stated their intentions: we come to do no harm. Still, there was risk. Approaching a ninja village always held risk. Though the fact that they were not hanging from the tree limbs in pieces did seem hopeful.

One of his two subordinates commented, "I expected to be greeted already."

"Hm," Shouda pondered, fingering his reigns. "When we come within sight of the wall they're sure to approach us. Though I suspect they'll be nonchalant, at least on the surface."

It was a notable choice; Mist would have had unannounced guests screeching for mercy by now, and even in his own village a party would have been sent out to ask _difficult_ questions. But here they road, invisibly watched yet unimpeded. And, for the one hundredth time, Captain Shouda wondered what kind of place Konoha would be.

A break in the heavy canopy drew up their heads, and – ah. There was the wall. It wasn't as magnificent as one might have imagined. In fact, it hardly stood out from the surrounding wood. Three times the height of a man and studded with watch towers, it was the protective skin over the Village Hidden in the Leaves. The only gate stood open, guarded by a triad of sentries.

Courteously, Shouda dismounted his animal before approaching, signaling for his men to do the same. This first meeting would determine much of their mission, and he intended to begin it on the best possible terms.

Two stony faced gatekeepers dressed in the regalia of Konoha awaited them. They had drawn no weapons, but the captain wasn't a fool. Shinobi weren't chosen as gate guardians for nothing, and the one on the left – distinctive only for the narrow strips of bandages across his cheekbones – was favoring the intruding party with a particularly unfriendly look.

"Kotetsu," the third shinobi spoke, the senbon in his cheek twitching. "You shouldn't glare at our guests like that. You might frighten them away."

The near humor was distinctly off-putting, and the captain felt his men tense behind him. _'Clever,'_ he silently praised their welcome party, consciously biting down on the quirk that attempted to manifest on his brown face. That almost-friendly statement had managed to 'frighten' his men more than any open hostility could have, and he wondered, was this his first taste of Konohagakure's strange ways?

Stepping forward, he inclined his head courteously with a bat of sharp, black eyes. "I am Captain Shouda," he introduced himself. "An ambassador from the Land of Grass and Kusagakure. My leader sends his greetings and requests that I be given audience with your Hokage."

The third shinobi nodded, idly reaching to adjust the bandana tied backward over his forehead. "That's very convenient; the Godaime is interested in speaking with you as well." Pointedly, he added, "We won't bother to go through the tediously vain request that you surrender your arms, but understand that we would happily eviscerate you and the horses you rode in on if you should feel inclined to be tiresome."

This time Shouda truly smiled. Vain; what a true description. Shinobi never truly disarmed. "You have my word that we are here to do no harm," he assured.

A half-lidded eye roll. "Of course," said the man, and then he gestured for the sentries to let them past. As he turned to guide them through, he offered his own introduction. "I'm Genma, Tokubetsu Jounin. My specialization is kicking your ass and leaving no trace of the body if you cause me any trouble."

Walking through the gates of Konoha was like being in the center of a blooming flower. The brown-olive of the forest passed away into a cacophony of vivid colors haphazardly arranged. Kusagakure had suffered and was even now rebuilding, but Konoha was a flourishing pinwheel of activity, like a pile of blocks held together with electric wire and laundry lines. It was dazzling.

Their escort, Genma, was watching the captain's face. "Your first visit?" he asked.

Shouda had to manage his breathing to keep it slow and even. O_h_, how he wanted his for his own village. Quietly, he managed to answer, "Yes."

A margin of softening came to the serious face, a measure of pride. The Konoha jounin said, "Yeah, it's pretty incredible. I think so every time I walk back through those gates alive."

He lead them onward, through streets of people moving about gossiping, running errands, laughing, arguing, flirting, fighting. Contented faces living their lives without fear. The civilians parted for the shinobi, but even so there were no glares, nothing thrown, no one trembling.

A high bubbling of infant laughter tinkled in the ambassador's ear and he stopped, handing the reigns of his mount to his men as he moved toward the sound. They were walking through a courtyard, and across the way were two young boys and a little girl being lead by the hand. They were too small to tell if they were ninja, but the Kusanin was captivated regardless.

The children of Konoha were of particularly interest to his mission, and his examination of them was so focused that he didn't notice how close they had actually come until they were almost upon him.

"Excuse me." A soft-spoken voice broke through his study. He redirected his gaze, traveling up the Konoha-standard uniform to a dusky face looking at him with a peculiar expression. The deep brown eyes seemed whimsically paradoxical – an innocuous fierce. But perhaps Shouda was mistaken, because the greeting he received was nothing if not pleasant. "May I help you?" he asked. "You were staring."

Realizing that the inquiry was a request for explanation, Shouda assumed his most peaceable appearance. "Ah, no. I was just distracted by your pretty children. Are they your own?"

"Sensei," the little girl murmured from the vicinity of the young man's thigh. She fisted the material at the bend of his knee, looking up at the stranger with anxiety. Her guardian stroked her hair reassuringly.

"I'm their teacher," the man clarified, and for the first time Shouda noticed the pale scar across his cheeks. Yet, somehow, it gave an impression of gentleness rather than the air of a seasoned warrior as it should have.

The ambassador showed his teeth, very white against his face. "A pleasure. I'm here as a representative from Kusagakure. And who are you?"

"Umino," the shinobi answered simply, casting an interested look at the silvery hitai-ate with the zigzag mark gleaming in the sun. Then he reached for the hand of the child standing nearby. "We need to be going. Your mothers will be worried."

The girl nodded, but her large hazel eyes were still fixated on Shouda with a look of great reservation. Umino gave her a little tug. Then he disappeared as a bobbing dark tail in the sea of people, the little children following him like baby ducks.

"You're a brave man to provoke Umino-sensei like that, Ambassador Shouda." The shinobi, Genma, had come to stand behind him. His teeth were still working around his weapon.

'Provoke' – it was an interesting choice of words. "The teacher?" the Kusanin wondered, intrigued. "He seemed very agreeable to me. Harmless."

His escort openly smirked, a disconcertingly sharp expression. Amused, he offered, "You would think that, wouldn't you?" He nodded in the direction of the departing children and their guardian. "Perhaps I'll give you some advice. So far, you are our guests. However, no one in this village will take kindly to too much attention on our children. Least of all that 'harmless' teacher."

"Ah." It was an understandable sentiment; distracted, Shouda had not been very subtle. He explained himself. "I assure you my intentions are benign. I also work with young people, and seeing them made me think of home."

Genma did not seem convinced, but he made his face into an credible enough facsimile of a smile. "Are you ready to meet the Godaime, Ambassador?" he asked. And as they turned, "Oh, and by the way. If you wander off again, I'll pry your esophagus out with my fingers."

Pleasant poison. The Kusanin captain rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. Konoha was a fascinating place.

* * *

The Sannin Hokage of Konoha was a formidable personage. Fair and well defined, another woman of her kind might have seemed like a joke in such a lordly position. But Tsunade radiated _Power_. It leaked out of her pores like a halo of chakra, like a robe she wrapped around herself for the benefit of her audience.

Suitably impressed, the captain had to deliberately fold away his sense of intimidation in her presence.

"I won't say this is an unexpected visit," the woman began as she eased into her high-backed chair. "My shinobi have been reporting a procession of Kusanin heading in this direction for over a week."

Shouda smirked whimsically, rolling knotted shoulders under the sharp scrutiny. This advanced knowledge of their approach didn't surprise him, nor did her delivery offend him. One did not sneak up on a hidden village, at least not if one came peacefully. And they were here almost in peace. Mostly.

The Godaime continued, "Perhaps a better question is, what exactly are you doing here?" She looked like a monument sitting as she was, her long legs crossed and her chin tilted down with eagle eyes. "Your leader has not contacted me."

"This is not an official visit," Shouda admitted. And his eyes glinted, just beneath his careful smile. She wasn't taking him seriously yet. "_Officially_, I'm here on a courtesy visit, only in passing. The truth, if I may skip the platitudes and political maneuvering, is that I was sent here by my Lord for a particular purpose."

The Godaime nodded, permitting him to continue, and so he explained, "My superiors were impressed by the latest batch of chuunin elect out of Konoha. There were quite a lot of surprises among your newest shinobi."

"You've come to see our genin?" The Godaime sounded doubtful. Her forehead was creased with lines, and the Kusanin wondered about the rumor that she was nearly a century old.

Whatever her age, she was obviously deeply intelligent. Having judged this, the captain chose to speak the truth. "Not exactly," he told her. "We're actually more interested in your monster tamer."

The silence that followed broke over them loudly, like a wave in the ocean. Intense russet eyes gazed at him unblinkingly in the pause. Then, finally, "I don't know what you mean."

Ah. So there were to be machinations after all. "I'm sure you're aware that the biggest rumor out of Konohagakure these days is that your village is harboring a secret weapon. A powerful master shinobi who is raising up your children into a force stronger than anticipated. He – supposing this teacher _is_ a he – is becoming a growing legend among the Hidden Villages. I was commissioned to come and find him."

"You're here to find a legend?"

"Your legendary sensei, yes." Shouda nodded, and a little burn flared up in him, just as it had when he first received this assignment_._ It was hope and drive, all mixed up with bile. He finished, "We're looking for the one who tamed the Kyuubi. The one who's sending out your new soldiers."

A thoughtful, considering moment passed. Then realization. The Godaime folded her fingers into a temple before her face, hiding her mouth. There was a very unhokage-like rasp of laughter. "You're -" She took a moment to compose herself. "You're here to see Iruka?"

"Iruka?" Shouda asked, caught off guard for the first time during the audience.

The Godaime seemed to be fighting hard to hold back her mirth, and the show of almost snorting levity made the Kusanin feel a rise of ire. "Honorable Hokage, are you implying that there is no such master in Konoha?" he demanded.

"No," answered Tsunade, but she was still covering that poorly concealed smile of privately enjoyed irony. "He's here. Umino Iruka, one of the single greatest plagues upon shinobi philosophy, and a real pain in my ass."

The ambassador blinked. "Pardon?"

The Hokage had reached for a form on her desk and began filing it out. She spoke as she wrote, "You'll want to visit our academy. Though I warn you against showing too much _interest_ - if you know what I mean - unless you'd like to leave clenching your own bowels. All of our teachers, even the ones that aren't," she snorted, "_Legendary,_ are known to be protective. You visit at your own risk, understand?" She chakra stamped the document with her thumb, then handed the paper over to him.

"And I'll be able to meet him – this Umino Iruka?" Shouda asked, looking at it. It was a writ of free passage.

"Very likely," she temporized, but even so, the lilt of her voice was slightly wicked. "He has incredibly inconvenient timing, but it's in the middle of a school day. Whether you recognize him or not will be the real trick of it."

"Surely someone so esteemed–"

The Hokage waved him off once again, as though it was only by doing so that she was avoiding a fit of laughter. "Go," she commanded. "Look though Konoha to your heart's content. For three days. Then get out."

The ambassador saluted her, standing to dismiss himself. "With my thanks, Lord Hokage."

The Godaime waved cheerily, one finger at a time. "Enjoy your visit," she called, and though he didn't know quite why, it felt like a challenge.

* * *

Next Chapter: Captain Shouda goes looking for Konoha's legendary sensei, but will he recognize him?

Author's Note: Back by popular demand, this mammoth epic which doubled in size due to pair of troublesome readers (I'm looking at you **Ally Plz **and **xDelta-Ha-chanx**). I plan to put up the longer version they inspired, and then post the original ending as a bonus chapter. Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts. Copy and pasting something that stuck out to you would be a wonderful review. Doozo yoroshiku!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The day's instruction seemed to be essentially a game of hide and seek. In groups of three, the children broke away into the practice field and the trees that surrounded it, concealing themselves as best they could with their fledgling talents. The bolder cells ventured after their classmates, and it was one such group that Shouda followed into a patch of wood concealed from direct view of the supervising adults.

He planned to judge this parcel of Konoha's seed. The reports had been scattered, inconsistent; he wanted to see for himself what was so unique about these young people.

Moving like a cat, he silently approached the oblivious students. They were strangely quiet, standing with their chins in the air as though judging their surroundings. A curly headed boy in a blue jacket stood slightly apart, and the Kusanin inclined his head toward him. '_Gently, little one,' _he broadcasted. '_I don't intend to hurt you.'_

Gathering himself in a crouch, he broke cover and lunged. The two children in front leapt from him like startled rabbits, but the one he'd chosen only had time for a squeak of fear before the captain descended. Yet even as Shouda felt the tickle of soft hair under his chin, he sensed something was amiss.

The boy exploded. Disoriented, Shouda looked through the yellow tendrils of dissipating smoke to the tree branch he now cradled instead. He had enough time to think, '_Replacement jutsu_' before an infant war cry startled him and he felt his feet leave the ground. He hit the dirt hard on his backside, feeling the burn as the pebbles and packed earth scrapped through his clothing.

The ambassador blinked, stunned. What –?

"Excuse me," said a voice.

Shouda looked up, unsurprised to see a familiar face. Yet the gentle-eyed man who he'd met at the gate was gone. Looming aggressively, just outside his effective fighting range, a narrow-eyed, pony-tailed shinobi stood with arms superimposed across his chest. And while he seemed calm enough, the indignation he harbored just below the surface was keenly obvious.

Again, the captain noticed the pale slash across the teacher's face, setting him apart in one's memory. Three little faces peered around him, unafraid now with their sensei present, but still cautious and on guard. Such young faces. Shouda smiled, deeply around his scars.

The bridge between the teacher's brow furrowed at this show of amusement, and he spoke again. It wasn't a loud voice, but the authority it commanded was unmistakable nonetheless. "What are you doing here, and why did you attack my children?" he asked. Brown eyes, so dark they were almost charcoal, flashed in a way that demanded explanation.

With the ease of a warrior-athlete, Shouda uncurled from his sprawl on the ground and approached the unflinching sensei. He extended the branch that moments ago had been a squirming little body. "Just a small test," he told the young man. "I never intended any harm. Imagine my surprise when I was the one who ended up on the ground."

Iruka favored the children with a look of approval, distilling their last bit of nervousness and making them beam. Fear became curiosity now that he had given them his "identity." Apparently, they'd been given tests before.

Iruka-sensei did not seem so appeased. "Back to your lessons, all of you," he commanded them with that same voice of quiet authority. "Now."

The children fled, darting back to their groups and leaving Shouda with the teacher, who seemed to be awaiting answers. The ambassador supplied them gladly; his backside was still stinging in a way that reminded him of how impressed he was.

He tossed the branch, which Iruka deigned to catch, though his expression remained unchanged. Shouda nodded toward the wood. "I would have sworn that was a child," he said. "Others their age might have panicked or cried even if they knew I was there, yet these wordlessly coordinated without my even realizing." He rubbed at the soreness of his ribs with one hand. "And they hit hard for such little children."

Iruka's serious eyes looked at him hard, but a flickering of pride for his students was present in their depths. "They learn very quickly what to do when they're grabbed," he said. "You were fortunate; Kyouya recognized you from yesterday or he might have been less subtle. He has an uncanny ability with the lightning elementals."

Shouda blinked slowly, taken aback. He was even more startled when Iruka actually smirked, showing some humor of his own. _'He's been in my head'_ the visitor realized. _'And he's decided I'm not an enemy.'_'

This was no normal grade-school teacher.

The ambassador lowered his chin. "Everything about this village astonishes me. Others have said your shinobi are weak minded, soft. And your village has been open – unusually so. But then, I have just been dispatched by toddlers. Perhaps it accounts for Konoha's ease?"

The teacher sobered. "We are not a village that loves war or enjoys cruelty and killing," he said. "But we aren't stupid. Konoha learned long ago that wars come whether or not we are ready." He titled his head. "We also know our neighbors. My students are taught to respect life, but they also know how to kill. You're lucky they didn't feel threatened, or your underestimation of them might have caused an accident."

Shouda agreed. Underestimation killed more shinobi than skill. But still: "They are just little children."

Iruka only stared at him noncommittally. Finally, he said, "So, _'Ambassador.'_ You never told me your business here."

The captain's smile returned. "I was sent to discover the true strength of Konohagakure and to observe its training methods and students. Some impressive shinobi are beginning to appear from Konoha, and other Hidden Villages have taken notice." He paused. "I was also sent to discover more about the master teacher who trained these new soldiers. Said illusive sensei is rumored to be a secret champion of Konoha, a warrior of fantastic power and strength with secret skills from other countries. Twelve feet tall, fangs, red eyes – the full legendary ideal. And yet no one has ever seen this teacher, though your Hokage assured me he exists, if not exactly in the form I described. Apparently there are no twelve foot men in Konoha."

Iruka shifted, but said nothing.

"What do you say to that, Iruka-sensei?" The Kusanin barked a short laugh. "What do you say, oh legendary sensei of Konohagakure?"

Iruka did not look amused. "I think it's an entertaining prank," he answered. "But I still expect an honest answer."

Shouda's face transformed, as though the punch line of a masterful joke had been missed. Yet as the sober-eyed teacher stood in front of him – shorter by almost a hand, young, physically underwhelming, and so _not_ what he might have considered a secret warrior – and the captain wondered if the secret had been kept even from Iruka.

With rare gentleness, he clarified, "You've misunderstood me. I meant what I said about my errand. I _was_ sent to observe the Konoha sensei, a man of ambiguous legend. The joke isn't why I came, the joke is that the one I came looking for is you."

Iruka seemed to be beginning to understand, but the humor stamped on his features was dark instead of genuine. "I'm no legend, or even much account among my own people," he said firmly. "I am a chuunin, surpassed now by many of my students. I am a teacher, but there are many teachers. If you wish to find the ones responsible for our newest chuunin then you should look for the jounin who trained them. I'm sure the Hokage will summon them for you. They are the warriors of legend you want."

A well kept secret, then. There was no lie in Iruka's eyes. The Konoha legend who molded great human weapons was a weapon himself. "You surprise me, Sensei," Shouda said.

The familiarity of the address made the teacher's eyebrow twitch. It seemed obvious he had lost all patience with this meeting. "I think you should leave." Somehow he made the harsh words seem more like a suggestion rather than the command they obviously were. It made Shouda come to attention. It made it easy to obey.

A bewildering person, this Iruka-sensei. The two of them were going to have to get to know one another much better.

"I'm going to see you later," the captain decided, even as he turned to leave the way he came. He waved over one shoulder, "Goodbye, Sensei, and have a good day."

"Have a fatal accident," the teacher called back, and then he returned to his children.

* * *

While their leader spoke to Iruka, the other Kusanin sought information. Feeling that the missions desk was as good a place as any to begin, the bearded visitor Ri-Tou entered the paneled room as unobtrusively as a strange shinobi among ninja could. Predictably, a dead hush fell over the gathering as he entered, and the man tugged self-consciously on his flecked uniform.

If only he had any skill at disarming smiles. Though he had the feeling that this set of rigid stares would not have been charmed by anything short of genjutsu.

Clearing his throat, Ri-Tou stepped up the an open desk worker. "Ah, hello," he began, rather awkwardly. He pulled out his paper of free passage, hoping it would lower some of the raised hairs he could practically see bristling over the chuunin seated before him. In fact, the whole room with its patchwork of milling shinobi had assumed tense, ready postures. Peripherally, he saw one fingering a narrow projectile at her waist.

Attempting to ignore the peril to his life, the Kusanin politely requested, "I've come to see the records of a shinobi named Umino Iruka. Could you help me?"

The falsely pleasant expression the worker had been wearing widened into a petrified smile, so stiff that Ri-Tou had to force himself not to flinch. He'd never seen such a threatening expression. Skin tingling, he realized that an even more absolute quiet had fallen. He peered over his shoulder. Every eye in the room was on him, intensely unfriendly.

"Ah," he coughed.

"I'm sorry," the man who'd been waiting on him spoke now, still showing his teeth. "That information cannot be released to visitors." – _'You filthy piece of pungent horse dung,'_ Ri-Tou practically heard him finish.

The room shifted, echoing this sentiment without words. Completely disconcerted, the Kusanin involuntarily retreated a step. "I see," he said, a trickle of sweat beading his face. "Well, thank you then."

He beat a hasty retreat after that, the combined weight of Konoha's polite antagonism beating down on his back. The open air had never been so welcome. "Damn," he muttered, wiping his brow with the handkerchief tied over his wrist. They were going to have to be more subtle after all.

* * *

In another part of the village, the third Grass companion was facing a different obstacle. The civilian sector had seemed a natural place to start seeking general impressions, both because rumor and fame were always so strongly resonate there and because access to that information was much more easily accessible.

Yet, as the Kusanin looked down upon the hunched old woman, he felt a sinking doubt. Sure, she had halted as he requested. But, though obviously nervous, she did not seem intimidated. Pressing her thin, pale lips together, she creaked, "Iruka?"

"Yes," the shinobi repeated, pressing his longish brown hair from his eyes. "I'm a visitor, and I heard he was a special teacher. Can you tell me anything about him?"

Narrowed, suspicious eyes watered at him. The matron answered shortly, "He's special, alright. Generous, respectful. He's done a great deal for the civilian community of this village." A deep unhappiness had sunk into her voice, and her prominent knuckles tightened around her walking stick as though she intended to hit him with it. "Why are you asking questions about our Iruka-sensei?"

The shinobi balked, surprised by the intensity of the threat in her voice. "I-I," he began, but the grandma was having none of it. She brandished her cane at him, and her growing agitation was attracting attention. Several shop keepers and their patrons had stepped out from under the bright awnings of nearby stalls, and a few stepped towards them now with stormy lines drawn down their faces.

The Kusanin backed off compulsively, aware that causing trouble here was not an option. He left, puzzled, wondering how it was that he – a ninja of obvious rank – had just been fearlessly run off by a granny and a pack of citizens with sacks of rice.

* * *

Next Chapter: Shouda is an extremely unwelcome guest in Iruka's home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

From the outside, Konoha's ninja academy did not look much different from any other school. It was a low, sprawling building surrounded by a wall and flanked by practice fields of various sizes. Every surface was scarred by kunai in inexpert hands, by repeatedly white-washed vandalism, by thrown stones and schoolyard scuffles and dirty fingerprints. Yet when the students spilled out of it its main gates, it was in a shrill of immature voices, high and happy.

It made Shouda think of the state of his own village's "academy", an education made up of the basest mercenary missions, riot control, and a very likely early death filling the holes of the border patrols. It made this squat, well worn-in building seem like the most comfortable place on earth, and in a moment of dark rumination with familiar frustration welling in him like a rising tide, he thought, _'I would do anything that_ _this_ _could come to my home.'_

Captain Shouda had, in fact, made many decisions. Chief among them was that, however unlikely the packaging, Umino Iruka was the man he had been sent to find. He was still stunned that this was Konoha's legendary sensei – this twenty-something chuunin Band-Aid distributor. However, his short audience had convinced him; Konoha had hit on something with this surprisingly able teacher, and it wasn't raw power. He had something else, and Shouda was determined to discover what that was.

"Sensei!" he hailed when his quarry finally exited the building.

Umino turned slowly, a line of tension drawn down his back as he adjusted his handful of papers against his chest. A few stuck out haphazardly, as though he'd already dropped them once, and a crumpled watercolor sat fluttering on top, emblazoned with the words _'Luv u, Ruka-Sensei'_ in sloppy, uneven symbols. His hair was a little mussed beneath his hitai-ate on one side, speckled with white powder. Blackboard eraser projectile, Shouda guessed.

The teacher caught him looking and scowled defensively. "One can't catch them all. That one wasn't pointed."

"Do your students regularly try to assassinate you?" Shouda asked, and the teacher actually flushed. That compounded with his lopsided condition only further served to make him even less like what the captain had expected. Legends weren't supposed to blush.

Iruka mumbled something about honing the children's skills, but by then he'd gained enough composure to look irritable rather than embarrassed. Straightening fully to a height that nonetheless put him just about the level of Shouda's nose, Umino asked, "To what do I owe this disruption? Again."

And here was the nettlesome, interesting teacher emerging. Shouda crossed his arms behind his back, his lips pressed together. "Ah, you see, Sensei, I _was_ sent to scrutinize the teacher of Konoha. So I have decided to trouble you at closer quarters in the spirit of observation."

"No, you won't," Iruka said firmly.

There was a young man of about ten or twelve standing with him. Dark hair peeked out of a hat with a scowling orange button, and he wore a scarf that trailed the ground, even in such warm weather. The boy looked up at Shouda with plain dislike. "Who're you?" he demanded.

Shouda cocked an eyebrow. "I'm from Kusagakure," he responded.

"Maybe you should go back there," the youngster snarled, a remark interrupted by an outraged yelp of pain as the teacher gave his ear a sharp yank.

"Konohamaru," Iruka admonished.

The brat glared, unrepentant, and Shouda's grin curled. "No, honesty is a good thing," he said. Leaning close enough to the boy to whisper, he planned to be equally honest. "I'm here to follow your teacher and mercilessly interrogate him until he stops smiling at me so politely. Then I'm going to stuff him in a sack and carry him far away, weeping to be parted from his beloved village."

He smiled. Konohamaru stared.

"Stop trying to scare him," Iruka put himself before the boy. To his student, he ordered, "Go home. And try not to get into any trouble along the way that could be traced back to me."

"I _said_ I was sorry about that tag, Sensei," the child griped. "It wasn't supposed to detonate like that."

"Of course it wasn't; you don't have the experience to calibrate the strength of the charges consistently yet. But you aren't supposed to know how to use them at _all_. Do you want me brought before the Godaime? For trusting you?"

Konohamaru wilted. "Sorry, Sensei," he said, sounding morose.

His teacher allowed him to wilt miserably for a long moment, but then his harsh expression faded and he sighed. He gestured to the child, who fell forward under his arm so quickly he almost tripped over his scarf. Iruka ruffled his hair. "Konohamaru, I teach you extra because I want you to be safe, and because your family has always held my loyalty. But you have to be responsible. Suppose Shibu-sensei had brunt more than just her hands?"

The boy looked crestfallen. He bunched his fists, promising, "I _will_ be more careful."

Iruka snorted. "When? Until tomorrow?" But the quality of rebuke was absent, softening his voice. The teacher nodded the boy off. "Away with you. I'll see you in the morning."

The adults watched him dart away, disappearing into Konoha's winding streets. Iruka adjusted his load. Without looking at the captain, he said, "And now I'll take my leave of you, Ambassador, if you don't mind."

Shouda minded. He trailed the bristling chuunin up and down the roads into the heart of the village. "Do you live here?" Shouda asked curiously when, after much attempted redirection and dismissal, they reached a rundown apartment complex bordering the part of town where flack jackets began to mix incongruently with diapers on the many sagging clothes lines. He studied a cracked, moldy flowerpot.

Iruka was worrying a key in an ancient lock. "If you think I'm letting you into my home," he said, "You're crazy."

* * *

Iruka was crazy.

During his walk home, he had tried everything in his power to put off the man trailing him. He'd attempted subtlety, plain requests, avoidance, and eventually even slammed his door rudely in the ambassador's face. Or on his fingers, more accurately. After that, he'd felt obliged to wrap the man's hands and wash off the blood.

While the teacher went to appropriate the necessary medical supplies, the other shinobi took the opportunity to make himself at home, snooping around the mementos, photographs, and discarded scrolls lying about Iruka's apartment. The chuunin felt his irritation growing with each moment, especially when the man picked up a scrap of parchment lying on the couch and murmured the first few lines of the poem scrawled on it.

What nerve. If he'd been anyone but a foreign dignitary, Iruka would have thrown him out bodily.

The feeling of helpless violation that had grown up underneath his ribs was only intensified when the Kusanin began poking around a picture of himself holding a younger Naruto. "The Kyuubi," Shouda guessed, casting a subtle glance in the direction of his host. He wet his lips and commented, "I'd love to meet him."

With any less constraint, the teacher might have growled. But instead, he forced himself to respond breezily, "I'd sooner pries out my own eyes."

For just a moment, his intruder dropped all manner of façade, and Iruka thought he saw some contention. "You have a way with words, Sensei," he commented in a way which was obviously not a compliment.

Iruka was unapologetic. Nonetheless, he bound up the stranger's welted fingers. The Ambassador had large hands the color of dark earth that were calloused between his thumb and forefinger. Like both of his companions at the gate, his hair was a thatched sable that had been cut short. His build was strongly knotted rather than bulky, but though he was tall, Iruka didn't feel particularly threatened. He just wanted the man to go away.

"There," he said, tying off the cloth with a practiced economy. "They'll be sore, but I don't think you've broken them."

The captain dared to sound incredulous. "_I've_ broken them?"

But Iruka wasn't playing any games. He admonished, "If you were one of my students, I would scold you for being so stupid. But you aren't. So I'll just ask you to leave."

"You'd kick out a guest without offering him something to drink?" Captain Shouda was not so easily put off. "I didn't know the courtesy of Konoha was so impoverished."

Iruka looked at him tersely, as one being coerced under incredible pressure. "Tea?" he finally ground out.

His visitor nodded. "Very kind of you," he acquiesced, and lead the way towards the kitchen area without invitation. There he reclined at the table and heaved a contented sigh. It was a settling-in sound, and it took all of the Iruka's conscious effort not to stomp or break the dishes as he took them down from the cupboard.

'_To come into my house,'_ he thought with waxing furor as he bent over the heating kettle. His pulse beat heavily at his temple. It was times like this when he would have admitted to wishing he were just a little stronger. Because he knew – and more to the point his _guest_ knew – that he couldn't force his intruder from this place. Could not defend his own home, or his own person. He was powerless, really, and everything else was a farce. Anger was the only shield he had.

…but he be damned if he wouldn't use it.

As he'd expected, his preparations were interrupted by an unobtrusive tapping by the window. Sure enough, over the sill peeked four sets of hopeful eyes, and Iruka withheld a weary exhale. Sadly, this could be no sanctuary tonight. Shaking his head discretely, he nodded his bric-a-brac wards away. He didn't want them here with an invader whose motives he questioned.

"May I ask?" The Kusanin raised his eyebrows inquiringly when the youngsters had gone. He took the cup that Iruka offered him, swirling it disinterestedly. He couldn't know, but it was the chuunin's least favorite brew and his most battered china.

Seating himself wearily, Iruka chose to respond with a question of his own. "Who keeps track of Kusagakure's orphans?"

Shouda went quiet with surprise. "Our orphans –"

"Or perhaps you have no homeless," the teacher snapped, a tad sharply.

The interloper had stilled, and was studying the empty window. One could sense his understanding, finally. He said, "No. We do. You keep them?"

Iruka shook his head. "One person couldn't. But there should always be a safe place."

"But not while I'm here."

The chuunin buried his nose in his mug, even if the ginger-scented steam bothered his nose. "Drink your tea," he requested. "I'd like to kick you out as soon as it can be managed politely."

The man responded with a deliberately slow sip and Iruka's eye twitched.

The noises of a house during the evening were especially loud – the creaking wooden framework, the rattle of the pipes, the drafts of air. Shouda looked around the small apartment curiously; at the economic arrangement of the narrow space, the neatly folded bedding, the shelving, and the battle-marked table. "It's funny," he finally spoke. "But I'd imagined your life very differently."

Iruka drummed his fingers on the table, considering whether or not that had been intended as an insult. "What do you mean?" he finally asked.

"Hm," said the ambassador. "In my village, most live in tents among the grass. They resemble a person's cupped hand, and are made out of a tough hide." He demonstrated, molding his hand on the table into the shape of a raised dole. "For our lifestyle, it's ideal. I supposed that the people of Konoha might also live according to their name." He smirked slightly, and for once it wasn't arrogant. With an self-deriding look, he admitted, "In trees."

Iruka refused to laugh. His guest wasn't welcome enough for an exchange of good humor. Still, he couldn't keep a question from slipping out. "Is Kusagakure a very different country from here?" He had never been there, though he'd heard stories of grassland like an ocean, and ninja on horseback, and a fallen city. After all, Kusagakure had also one had a Kage.

The Ambassador darkened, shifting his fingers against the porcelain. "Kusagakure hasn't been the same for many years. In some ways, we are a desperate country without the resources we need to rebuild. We lack good leadership. Mentors," he said, and seemed to be looking at Iruka discretely. "But I have great hope for my home. Refugees can form a strong nation. We just need the right tools."

Iruka felt it was high time for a more direct interrogation. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Really."

Something briefly twisted the edges of the other shinobi's lips. He seemed to choose his words carefully. "We came to find the teacher responsible for the new Konoha shinobi. We came for you."

The teacher wanted to sigh; he'd so hoped he'd get the truth this time and not the same old story. He ducked his chin, shielding his face in a long shadow. The dimness was as melancholy as his mood, and perhaps inspired his statement: "You must have been disappointed then."

"Not really," Shouda said, almost as though he meant it. "The picture is becoming increasingly clear. No, I couldn't say I'm disappointed."

"Right," Iruka agreed, and he felt uncharacteristically bruised for some reason. This farce was making him tired. _'Enough,' _he told himself. _'Are you feeling hurt so easily by an ill-meant joke? Others have mocked your rank and profession before. Let them.'_ Still, he kept his face turned away.

The ambassador was staring down at his drink, still steaming slightly though he had only taken a few sips over its curved lip. Aloud, he pondered, "Is this how you tamed the Kyuubi? With tea and soup and warm blankets and four walls?"

_Tame_. As though Naruto were an animal. Iruka forced down his gorge of irritation. "He came of his own accord."

"Like the other children?" There was a sincerity and an intensity in the man's voice that remarked on his whole aspect. Iruka found himself caught in the curve of his eyes, very clear and stark in his leathery face. There was something challenging, even needy in that expression, a look which the caregiver in Iruka found very familiar.

He paused, considering. "You were an orphan," he finally guessed. It took a moment to reframe his thoughts around his revelation. After a moment of consideration, he ventured more gently, "Did you wait at windows?"

"No, there wasn't a window," the ambassador said heavily. His brow creased. "But there should have been." He ran his nails through curled hair, obviously beleaguered by thought. He asked, "And you?"

The catch in Iruka's chest wasn't as strong as it once had been; he wondered that he still felt any surge of grief at all after so many years. But then, to be orphaned was more than just the loss of your family. It was the beginning of a unforgiving life filled with early sacrifice and a profound subordination and vulnerability. Especially at the edge of a war. It wasn't something that Iruka liked to talk about.

Captain Shouda must have seen something of that in his posture, because the planes of his face were edged with full understanding and he did not press except to say, "The shinobi world isn't kind to the weak."

Perhaps he meant it to show compassion, even empathy, but Iruka had heard that statement too many times in his life, cast out casually – justification, or inevitability. And no one's else's problem. "We're all weak sometimes," he ground out. "And _mercy_ is an alternative to cold indifference."

A judgmental silence filled up the room with the little table and the fading steam in their glasses. Shouda was looking at him fixedly. Very slowly, he remarked, "Something's wrong with you."

The teacher heaved a deep breath, pressing his temples into his hands. Then he drained his cup, saying, "You and the Godaime can get together and complain about it over tea."

But the other shinobi wasn't detoured. "There's something about you," the man said seriously, more seriously than even before.

Iruka looked at him, at his stare, fixed and raw. The intensity was a little fearsome. Feeling a prickling sensation as the fine hairs at the base of his neck rose, he said, "I'm a teacher."

Black, black eyes. Like night, or flypaper. Shouda said, "We'll see."

* * *

Shouda's men were waiting for him when he returned to the rooms they had been so courteously offered. His bristly chin rising from the study of a sheath of paperwork, Ri-Tou asked, "Fruitful visit?"

Closing the door to the outside passage deliberately behind him and sweeping off his hitai-ate, the leader gave a derisive shake of the head. His voice was more coldly edged in this private place, and he answered the inquiry curtly. "Highly. What did you find out?"

Ri-Tou reclined in his seat, shifting through a green file. "We were wrong about just how naïve Konoha is. They practically laughed in my face when I requested Umino's files. The little desk worker politely told me it wasn't the hell my business."

The third of their party – the lither, shaggy haired Keno Uma – turned from the window and finished the story with humor. "Then the whole room glared daggers at him with creepy smiles until he ran away and made me go take a more discrete look."

"I didn't run," the former insisted as through in great offence, but he and Keno had far too intimate a history for any real ire to be between them. He finished, "But sure, they were rather...upset. I think we may have made a mistake."

Shouda was unconcerned with the dissatisfaction of a group of moody desk-workers. He wanted to know what information they'd uncovered. "Well?"

"Umino Iruka," Ri-Tou read, obligingly. "Twenty-four. Chuunin since sixteen. A handful of low-ranked missions are listed. Several B's, an A, and," The man paused significantly. "And a note to check an extended record."

That was potentially interesting. Shouda wondered what Iruka could be involved with that would merit a second record. He gestured. "Go on."

"Specialization: academy-level instruction," the gravely voice read. "However, he's also footnoted for charka control and explosive tags. It's been referenced dozens of times. Parents deceased, no other relations in Konoha. Origin: Request higher clearance." Another meaningful pause; another thing that might well be worth looking into. Ri-Tou finished, "He's also listed as emergency contact for a handful of kids, mostly academy level, though a few are genin and chuunin. Most notable: Uzumaki Naruto."

"Uzumaki?" Shouda didn't understand the reference.

"The Kyuubi, sir," Keno supplied. "That's what they call him here. He's a boy."

Shouda thought back to the blonde toddler he had seen in Iruka's picture frame. He'd known that the fox had the form of a young man, of course, but now, after all that he'd seen, the implications seemed starker. The window, and the brats.

Iruka wasn't training warriors or soldiers or machines. He was _raising_ a generation of youth – to protect themselves, their loved ones, and the unique honor born to the Konoha warriors. Moreover, Iruka was obviously more than just a teacher. Normal teachers did not stand with such confidence before someone so seemingly superior in rank and power. Normal teachers did not look like Iruka did, or think like he did. No, no. Normal teachers did not love their students like Iruka did, to the end of his life.

'_What mask do you wear at night, Iruka-sensei?'_ Shouda thought to himself. _'What tasks are you sent to complete that your little students and these naïve villagers are innocent of? You're no man running from danger with your teaching. You have purpose. Who are you?' _The records his men had gathered only gave further credence to his shrew guesses.

The Kusanin allowed a chortle to rattle in his throat.

"Captain?"

Shouda waved off the concern of his men. He praised them. "Very good. Very. But poor Sensei." He crossed to the window where the village lay somnolent before him, bathed in the moon's ivory light. "We've come after Konoha's shepherd."

* * *

Next Chapter: Konohamaru and Iruka have a conversation in a supply closet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Nothing in life gave Umino Iruka so much pleasure as standing in front of a classroom of students working productively. This was partially because teaching was more art than science, requiring guile, skillful negotiation, and force of personality to convince fidgety young minds that there might indeed be something worth learning that they – incredible as it sounded – did not already know. Yet, for all its difficulty, it was something at which Iruka excelled, and it gave him joy.

It helped to have an interesting subject, of course – something to do with fire, or poison, or something sharp and pointed. Or, as it turned out, preparation for the upcoming festival.

Iruka looked around his class, busily engaged in all manner or projects. Moegi had managed to find herself completely covered with glitter, and was molesting her male classmates with sparkling embraces. "Save us, Sensei!" Konohamaru called from her imperious grip. His legs had gotten tangled in the banner they'd been working on, and though he writhed, he couldn't escape.

The chuunin chuckled sympathetically, but instead chose to go aid another group in more immediate need, hoping to help them pin their costumes together without impaling each other.

The celebration they were preparing for was one of the year's favorites – the Festival of Leaves, glorifying the end of summertime. It took place in one of the warm dusks late in the season, and everyone dressed in their finest clothes and danced and ate together, shinobi and civilian alike. According to tradition, it always began with a colorful parade of the village children in homemade decor, and the senior class was responsible for acting out myth, folktales, or history.

He recalled the proposal of Naruto's class with a hint of fond wickedness; he'd very nearly been dismissed from his position at the academy for allowing that stunt. But what could he say? The boy had made a stunning Kyuubi in an array of fluffy orange tales made from raw cotton, much to the satisfaction of his peers and the horror of the parents and citizens of Konoha.

This year's plan was more simple – it was the story of creation, of the gods who gave birth to mankind and distributed their gifts over the earth.

Content with their progress, Iruka smiled. Yet there was still a dim sense of unease clouding his calm. Feeling compelled, he moved to the window and found his eyes lingering on the building's shadows. The hairs on his arms raised when he finally noticed Him – _there_, sitting boldly just at the tree line where the grass grew high.

The ambassador waved, and Iruka drew away from the glass stiffly.

"Sensei?" Konohamaru called from the other side of the room. He was frowning, as though he had picked up on Iruka's unease. Following his lead, the rest of his class became eerily quiet. The boy asked, "Are you alright?"

Iruka fought for composure. "Yes, Konohamaru," he said. "I'm fine."

* * *

The tiny enclosed space was musty and cramped. Particles of dust hung in the air, visible in the beam of naked light that descend from high over his head. Tall but narrow, the only way Iruka could fit into the supply closet was by curling slightly, his back braced on the broken spines of old textbooks and the heel of one foot propped against the lowest shelf. The papers he was grading, he held fanned over his lap, and he clinched the grading pen between his teeth when he wasn't using it.

It was hardly comfortable, but privacy was a luxury in a village of shinobi, and the teacher was convinced there was no more hidden place in the whole of Konoha. So he made due.

Though perhaps he was only deluding himself about the effectiveness of his hideout, for just as his mind was beginning to settle into a kind of meditative drudgery, there came a timid knock and then the door slid open.

It took Iruka a moment to recognize his guest as he eyes readjusted to the external light. "Konohamaru," he greeted with a note of bemusement. "Here after class? Where's your gang?" Though he craned from his awkward position, he could not see them.

The boy shifted his weight back and forth between his sandaled feet. With unusual hesitancy, he requested, "Can I talk to you, Sensei? It's a serious conversation."

Iruka smiled at the solemn pronouncement, but nonetheless moved some stray papers aside. Accepting the invitation, the boy wedged himself into the space beside his teacher. He considered the constricted surroundings; the shelves of first aid supplies and spare weaponry, the bald lighting fixture, the cobwebs.

"This is a weird place to be working, Sensei," he commented, and Iruka tilted his head ruefully. In truth, he agreed. But sometimes everyone needed a place to escape to.

"So, what are we going to talk about," Iruka asked, ignoring the crinkling essays as he leaned back into a position of greater comfort.

"Um, well." The boy fidgeted with his toes, then finally sighed. He admitted, "I've been talking to Udon and Moegi, and we're worried about you."

"Me?" Iruka asked, farcically astonished.

Konohamaru gave him a dirty look, but let the mild sarcasm pass. He forged on, "We are. Well, mostly Udon. He's a real sissy."

"I admire Udon," Iruka commented. "He has a healthy respect for his sensei." Normally the teacher might have brought him to task for slandering his friend's name, but he sensed that this was important.

"I'm worried about you because of the Grass ninja," the boy admitted. "He's creepy, Sensei, the way he keeps following you. What if he wants to hurt you?"

The chuunin was touched, but also disquieted. Shouda was 'creepy' at times, but he hadn't seemed threatening. Iruka had been startled and disquieted, and his feelings had been stepped on, but that was a whining, childish complaint.

"He's very rude," Iruka remarked thoughtfully. "But it'll be okay, Konohamaru. He's not the first obnoxious busybody to follow me around, after all." He was thinking of Kakashi – a strange, meddling companion if there ever was one.

Konohamaru knew exactly of whom he was speaking, of course. "He's your friend," the child protested the comparison, though he accompanied the declaration with an expression that very clearly questioned his teacher's judgment in relationship choices. It was comical; Naruto made that same face.

"Even so, I think I'll be okay," he comforted. Then teased, "After all, the ambassador could hardly kill me in the middle of the village with immunity. He'd risk a war."

"But you'd still be dead," the boy intoned bleakly.

Taken aback, Iruka chose his words carefully. "I'm not going to die, Konohamaru. What put that in your head?"

"Do you remember when I was little? You were walking with me one day, and then you beat up that guy who was looking at me."

Iruka recalled the incident slightly differently, with a little more detail and complexity. He hadn't 'beaten up' anyone exactly, but the stranger had been looking at his child as though he might carry him away. He'd felt that certain…._measures _had been warranted. Unsure where this was going, he said, "I remember."

Konohamaru nodded. "The Grass ninja sort of looks like that. I don't like it. Please, can't we make them go, Sensei? We could even talk to that old hag."

A valiant offer. The boy had to be truly spooked – he'd never have made such an unpalatable suggestion otherwise. Tsunade was possibly his least favorite person in the world. But politics were politics, however much both of them sometimes hated the rules.

Attempting to explain, he told his student, "He's an ambassador, Konohamaru. Tsunade would never kick him out." But then, seeing the young man wilt, he pressed a hand fondly against the crown of the boy's head. "Listen, I'll be fine. I can look after myself."

Konohamaru blinked his big, dark eyes. Iruka had known him practically since birth; they were allies in the political labyrinth of Konoha, and through his grandfather, practically family. And now the boy stared at him with the most weary, fearful expression. He murmured, "Maybe you're not that strong, Sensei."

His teacher just _looked_ at him for a long moment. Then he exhaled long and slow and wrapped his arm around his student's thin, trembling back.

* * *

Next Chapter: Kakashi finally shows up, late as usual.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The trees were whispering to themselves as the evening fell, swaying their branches as the day's golden heat rose from the ground to make room for shadow. The gossip of their rubbing leaves was contemplative, taking sides. Most favored the wolf, but a sentimental few blew softly for the sparrow.

Ignoring their audience, the pair continued to spar, unconscious of the spectacle they made or anything beyond the immediate context of their environment. It was musty, the temperature enough to make a body slick with sweat – but it was worth it for the well-oiled, pleasantly sore feeling that came after a good workout.

And anyway, neither Kakashi nor Iruka were much for breaking ritual, regardless of the weather.

There had been a time when if you had told Kakashi that he would share anything more than a vague sense of animosity with Umino Iruka, he would have laughed, thinking dismissively of an insubordinate, alphabet-teaching mid-ranker who only merited passing attention because he was responsible for Naruto's very occasional preciseness of form.

But through unexpected circumstances brought about by his own obnoxious habit of putting his cowl-covered nose where it didn't belong, the jounin had since twice been Iruka's partner and now considered him something like a friend – one of his few friends whose relationship went beyond a passing acquaintanceship or the lines of duty and his profession.

Sparring was just one of the things they did together now, when the occasion presented itself. Physically, the younger man wasn't a match for him, but Iruka was clever in a way that was different than genius – as though his point of departure was different – and that generally managed to keep the copy-nin interested.

But Iruka would never pass for jounin. Kakashi reflected on it as he danced, handling the network of blows in the open palms and startling deflections of a form he favored. The teacher had a bad tendency to give a tell before he struck. This was because, while he spared with his students regularly, it was as an expert – guiding, correcting. He'd gotten into the habit of broadcasting his next move for teaching purposes. It always took a few heavy clouts for him to snap out of his tutoring demeanor, and Kakashi would admit it gave him a perverse kind of pleasure. Iruka was fun to tease, and even more fun to catch in a mistake. Most of the time he looked like a diagram out of a textbook.

Of course, whenever Kakashi got too comfortable with the chuunin's predictability, the man would get this twitch of amusement in his eye and then manage to do something _completely_ defiant of his expectations…

The air popped with the sound of forming ice, and the jounin rolled over his shoulder like lightning, using his speed to crouch so that the razor of solidified vapor pierced empty air. He had time for a smirk of triumph and then he exploded.

Staggering, Kakashi hissed, reaching feebly for his right shoulder where the tag was certainly situated. He could smell it, still sizzling with a hot and burnt odor that made him grimace. The distraction was well served; the heel of Iruka's palm made it through his guard, propelling him backward with enough force to bring up a cloud of dust from the dry earth.

And that was Iruka in a nutshell. He'd distract you with a freakish marvel and then unseat you with the most toddling, punch-to-the-face obvious technique imaginable. Kakashi straightened, chagrined, while the chuunin hovered just out of range with a teasing twinkle in his eye, provoking him to do something about it.

Oh ho.

Accepting the baiting, the elite redoubled his speed and forced his opponent's focus into the little box required for keeping his bones from breaking. Iruka held his own, though the smooth clip of his defense took on just a trace of wildness. Overwhelming someone was a look in their eyes – a dilation of the pupils as their mind was ground against the breakwater of what they were able to process. Iruka's eyes were just starting to take on that look when Kakashi noticed the almost infinitesimal lilt, a flicker of diversion.

The chuunin's guard broke. He faltered as though he expected a cataclysm, but Kakashi was no longer there. Above the ground, the jounin folded his hands and the trap released. He smiled, pleased, awaiting the clumsy evasion that would put Iruka completely at his mercy.

But it didn't happen that way.

Instead, the wiretap lacerated Iruka's calves and forearms in a gossamer instant of sun on silver web, sending up a latticework of blood. Beneath his mask, Kakashi almost bit through the sharp frown that formed there. This was a workout, not a battle, and he hadn't meant for the chuunin to be caught. However he teased, Iruka's awareness of the environment was generally excellent; he should easily have avoided that outlay.

There was a flinch of hesitation as the teacher lowered the hands he had instinctively risen to guard his face. They were livid red, but even so he was still reacting too slowly. Kakashi resheathed the kunai he had intended to throw at the chuunin's back, no longer sure that it wouldn't sink straight between his shoulder blades.

Iruka was wholly distracted.

Flickering to engage his opponent at close range, Kakashi forced the chuunin backward. Iruka blocked sluggishly, without heart. A fairly simple feint threw his rhythm off completely, and then Kakashi was behind him, his throat caught in the cusp of his elbow. A gentle twist and the delicate bones would have parted, leaving him a blank-eyed puppet. Kakashi sighed against Iruka's cheek.

"Be glad I'm not really the enemy today, Sensei," Kakashi told him as the Iruka's chest gave a compulsive, empty heave, unable to draw air around his senior's pitiless grip.

Releasing his captive to a rattle of heavy breathing, Kakashi gave him time to recover before reaching out to draw Iruka upright and examine his arms with a practiced eye. The wires had taken quite a bite out of him; they would definitely be a uncomfortable for awhile.

Iruka's shoulders hunched sheepishly during the examination, but even now he didn't seem completely present. The jounin bore his thumb a bit harder than necessary into one of the deeper cuts, gratified to hear the protesting "Ow! Dammit, Kakashi." Driving the grade school teacher to bad language was one of his favorite hobbies, but at the moment he just liked to see the other _alert_.

Iruka crossed his bloody arms. "So I wasn't paying attention. Are you going to glare at me with that withering look until I practice my _time-travel-no-jutsu_ and correct my mistake?"

Certain that his mask concealed his expression, Kakashi gazed at the teacher fondly. He'd never met a man with such a contradictory aura of fluffy and fierce. It was still one of his favorite aspects of Iruka, a perpetually fresh well of mystery. He was so _weird_.

"So what's wrong with you?" he asked, sauntering over to settle gingerly against the base of a nearby tree. Ruefully, he poked at his shoulder; the charge had barely been enough to redden the skin, but it still stung. He wished that Iruka was less fond of explosives.

The chuunin sat cross-legged, broodingly glaring at his red-spotted hands. "Nothing is wrong," he said, but his eyes were restless, flitting up and around the area. A patch of particularly dense branches caught and held his focus. Iruka twitched.

Raising a fine silver eyebrow, the copy-nin took a moment to contemplate how to proceed. His current companion possessed a somewhat catlike nature in that he was temperamental, particular, and affectionate only in a moody and inconsistent way. A self-professed dog-person, it was an aspect of his personality that puzzled Kakashi. He'd been glad to find out that people didn't have to share precisely complimentary natures to foster a relationship, but Iruka was still volatile. To be sure of cooperation, certain subjects had to be approached carefully.

He finally ventured to grunt in a deliberately noncommittal way. "You seem stressed." He checked the trees involuntarily, trying to spot what Iruka was looking at, but nothing seemed immediately evident.

A long, sullen moment. The jounin had caught the chuunin upside his head once, knocking part of his hair from its tie, so that the usually collected teacher had a frazzled, lopsided look. Hunching, Iruka muttered, "I'm being followed."

Kakashi's eyebrows rose. "Ah, by what?" he asked.

Iruka scowled vaguely behind him. "It's those visiting Kusanin ambassadors. One of them has convinced himself that I'm some special weapon of Konoha because of my advanced projectile dodging skills…or possibly lack thereof. That, or else it's a prank Tsunade initiated that I find increasingly _not_ funny."

"The Kusanin are following you?" Kakashi sought clarification. He had heard about the visiting ninja, of course, in the way that all slightly novel information disseminated through a Hidden Village. There were three, if he recalled correctly.

"Their captain followed me home last night," the chuunin shared. Fretful, agitated, he admitted, "And then he sat outside the school all day, _grinning _at me in plain sight."

Strange, the copy-nin was forced to admit. "Ignore him," he suggested. "Or better yet, make a complaint to the Godaime. She could have them leave."

"Kicking out ambassadors is never a good idea, Kakashi," Iruka snapped. Then immediately he wilted. "I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well. I'm angry. This –"

Kakashi saw it. Iruka's feelings were hurt. He was convinced this was a prank. Someone had pushed their way into his home. And his position with the Hokage was such that he felt helpless to do anything about it. He was frustrated, touchy, and under observation.

A curling sense of disquiet entrenched itself into the copy-nin's chest. He decided he didn't care for this situation either. Pulling himself into a standing position, he extended a hand to his companion. "Come on," he said. "Let's get something to eat. I'll talk to Genma about the Kusanin later." He knew the special jounin was assigned to them, and might know whether they were in earnest. Or if their captain was someone who ought to be made unwelcome.

Gratefully, Iruka accepted his help. "I know I'm being paranoid," he said, and he ducked his head slightly to cover his embarrassment.

Possibly. But a ninja should be wary, and – Kakashi thought – any human being had a right to dislike being hunted.

* * *

The Hidden Village of Konoha was a two-sided coin. On the one hand, its ninja had given it fame and their provision brought order, administration, money, and protection to everything and everyone within the village walls. But Shinobi weren't farmers, carpenters, manufacturers, or traders. Thriving cities needed laborers as well as soldiers, and in Konoha, this population of people had flourished.

Oh, sure, things weren't perfect. Many felt there was a disagreeable sense of elitism that trickled down from the Shinobi quarter. But they didn't live in fear, and there were some particular warriors that had earned their esteem enough to be considered their own. Sarutobi had been one of them. Umino Iruka was another.

"You say he was asking questions about Iruka-sensei?" asked a broad-shouldered laborer. His lips were tight beneath his bearded face, unsettled.

The crowd murmured as the older woman nodded. Her withered voice shook with worry as she described the event. "He was one of those strangers who come through yesterday. With the strange up and down lines on their headband. He said Iruka-sensei was 'special.'"

Frowns veiled every face in the congregation. Living as they did at the fringe of the shinobi world, every adult knew the possible ramifications of someone asking questions.

"I don't understand," said a young mother. Her son had been born with the charka level to train as a nin, but Iruka-sensei had gone with her to petition for the right to raise him as a civilian. She held the infant close under her chin as she asked, "What could they possibly want with him?"

Unhappy contemplation followed, though no firm answers were forthcoming. "Nothing good," an elder finally spoke for them all, shaking his head.

Others raised their voice in turn: "Iruka-sensei helped me build my house"; "He's given me wards for my shop"; "He teaches our children on his own time"; "He treats as equals, with respect."

"We can't let them hurt Sensei!" a scruffy child cried.

"We have to do something," another charged, and energy and voices built. Protestations and oaths and shaking fists.

And, increasingly, resoundingly, they asked the question: "So what are we going to do?"

* * *

Next Chapter: Shouda corners Iruka with his intentions during the Festival of Leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

The night of the festival came with incredible vividness on a purple-golden twilight pregnant with stars. A frame of navy clouds ghosted the horizon, and the small, bright moon peeked out from them periodically like a glinting eye.

Iruka emerged from under a procession of lanterns, strung up like jewels across the gaps of Konoha's roofs. Fireflies glowed and there was the heady aroma of night in deep summer; earth and dried grass, wood and foliage. Maturity. Full seed pods and empty nests. An ideal night for the Festival of Leaves.

Around him, people whirled like a carousel of color and sound, their laughter and jokes mixed in with playful scolds and idle talk. On this special night, everyone had adorned themselves in their finest clothing, and they were a panorama of traditional dark and pastel kimonos.

Iruka's own was the color of a green sea and foam, and it hung loose on his arms in an unfamiliar way. The softness of the cotton fabric had caught on the calluses of his hands when he had slid it on, and he'd looked ruefully at himself afterward, noting how gawky the fine outfit looked with his awkward body and plain face. His neighbor, a matronly older woman whose mirror he borrowed, had cackled and disagreed. "Our handsome, doe-eyed sensei," she said, and pinched his cheek firmly. "These will always suit you more than a military man's clothes."

The teacher grinned at the memory. As a disenfranchised youth – clanless, completely vulnerable – he had been housed in the civilian quarters, and he'd known the kindness of many ordinary, hardworking people who provided for the village's practical needs. The deep sense of solidarity he felt for them made festivals like these – when all men removed the trappings of their trade and mingled as one community – a special and beautiful time.

"Iruka-sensei!" A harmony of sweet voices hailed him and he stopped, waiting upon the approaching pat of sandaled feet. He smiled as two of his more troublesome students approached, charmed by how different they looked outside their hardy work clothes and inevitable goggles. Udon's yukata was a black pond of graceful koi, while Moegi's carefully braided hair had a tinkling bell woven into its folds.

"Well," he greeted the pair. "Moegi. Udon. But where's that harbinger you call ringleader?" He cast his eyes around; a Konohamaru unseen was like a hidden match in a dry field. He didn't like to think of the trouble.

"Ebisu-sensei made him come on a leash," Moegi giggled into her hands. "The color-marking justsu he was 'practicing' turned all of Sensei's glasses purple with polka dots."

"And his nostrils blue," Udon added.

Iruka grimaced. That had _not_ been his intention when he'd given the lesson on tagging. It was supposed to show students how to mark objects in the environment. Yet somehow he was always blamed for these things, though, in his opinion, it was hardly his fault that Konoha had spawned a generation of devious monster offspring.

"You look younger, Sensei," Moegi told him then, blushing prettily. Civilian clothes often did that, he felt. They softened lines, and made one look less…well, less _uniform_ – more one's own.

Udon, meanwhile, was looking a little green at the direction of his teammate's attention. Iruka could tell the boy was smitten with her, but, too burdened with mortification at the very thought, he had settled for staring wistfully at the rim of her yellow sleeve. Feeling profoundly sorry for shy, dutiful Udon, the teacher gently swept up the little girl's hand.

"What a beautiful lady you've become," he complimented her, and she flushed like a poesy to the roots of her hair. Iruka gave a gusty, regretful sigh. "If only I weren't so busy, I would be your escort. But since I can't…" He gave the startled Udon a tug forward and pressed Meogi's fingers into his. "There. Now I won't worry. You'll take good care of her, Udon? Buy her a treat before the parade?"

Solemnly, bright-eyed, the boy nodded. He flashed a handful of coins, undoubtedly sequestered for just such a purpose. Iruka grinned upon the fresh, happy faces. "Have fun then," he wished them well and then watched as Moegi tugged off her companion, squealing with delight while he followed in a daze. The teacher's head fell to the side, and he chuckled a private, grown-up laugh. Puppy love was such a joyful ache.

After that, Iruka wandered for a while, looking with interest into the brightly decorated booths, full of food and games and things that lit up the night. Around him, the susurration of a growing crowd pulsed, and one could hear tinny snatches of a child's song wafting down the road from the direction the parade would start. He needed to start heading in that direction himself – the seniors went last, but undoubtedly there was already a tumble of little crises.

His feet turned that way as he hummed, enjoying the healthy thrum of life that seemed to come up from the very ground. Yes, Konoha was healthy, strong in nature and in the bodies and hearts of its people. It filled him up with assurance that he was doing his job well, and he sauntered, waving and exchanging a few words with parents and acquaintances as he went.

For a moment he wondered about Kakashi, but then his eyes rolled. The man was nothing if not flamboyantly tardy. Likely, he would show up out of a patch of empty air right over Iruka's shoulder at his first lapse of inattention. It seemed to be one of the jounin's favorite games - Startle the Pitiful Sensei. But even so, he found himself looking forward to seeing the nuisance, if ever he deigned to show up.

The current of movement shifted then as people drew closer to the road. Little ones too small for school were drawn atop broad shoulders to provide an excellent view. A distant drum beat signaled the encroaching commencement. Iruka picked up his pace.

A curtain drew in front of him suddenly, a swath of ebony cloth unremarked upon by even a single patch of colored fabric. Startled, Iruka's stride broke and he ducked his head with a ready smile, mouth already forming to beg his pardon as he angled around. But the interloper stepped with him, barring his path. Iruka looked up.

"Ambassador Shouda," he said. Innate politeness won out over a more impulsive reaction, and he forced a pleasant expression on his face. "Are you enjoying the festival?"

"It's convenient," the captain said shortly, and he drew closer, well into the teacher's personal space.

Iruka blinked, made uneasy by the unusually cold demeanor barely masked in Captain Shouda's eyes. Unthinkingly, he took a step back, only to run up against the firm chest of the broadest Kusanin. The man looked down at him coldly, and Iruka's instinct flared with warning, however much the sensation of seclusion, of being boxed in, was incongruous. All around them was a nebulous of moving faces, of brocaded backs. But the attention of the crowd was directed towards the children's parade. Iruka was alone at the edge of a multitude with these men. The crowd was of a different world.

The proximity of the captain was grating as even his charka pressed imposingly close. It was a deliberate attempt to intimidate him, and it rose Iruka's hackles. His muscles buzzed; fight or flee. His fingers twitched. A kunai was strapped at his thigh.

"Not in this crowd, Sensei. Not in a place like this," the captain soothed. His voice was calm, reasonable, but his eyes were razor focused. "We just need to talk."

Out of the corner of his eye, Iruka saw his students moving past in their bright costumes and effusion of sparkles. He caught hold of the frayed ends of his composure and twisted them back together. "I'm watching the procession. My class –"

Shouda didn't allow him to finish. He brought his fingers together with a casual movement, and Ri-Tou's hand came up to settle over the back of Iruka's neck. It almost certainly looked friendly, especially with the general gaiety that had built up. And not at all like a threat to take his life if he so much as twitched.

"You wouldn't," Iruka called him on the act. He was understandably angry, but subdued.

The captor at his back breathed close to his ear. "Tonight, Sensei, we could be away before you hit the ground. Konoha isn't going to go to war over an unconfirmed murder." His large thumb caressed a nerve, making the teacher's skin jump. "Perhaps we just stop your heart from beating. But you're so young for a heart attack," he murmured regretfully.

Shouda took control. "Enough," he said. "There's no reason for this to be unfriendly."

The teacher felt an oppressive lack of agency dwelling over him, coupled with an even deeper sense of apprehension. He asked, "What do you want?"

"To talk, as I said," Shouda repeated. His voice simmered low, clearly meant only for their ears. "My men have brought some things to my attention, and I felt the need to discuss them with you."

"Couldn't it have waited for an appointment," Iruka ground out.

Shouda's chuckled. "No, I don't think so. Blackmail is almost never regulated to such niceties."

Blackmail. The word sent a chill straight through Iruka's heart. It was like swallowing chips of ice. But no, he told himself, ignoring the feeling of a sweat breaking out down his back. There was nothing these men could use to hurt him. Mustering his resolve, he told his captor, "All shinobi have secrets they'd rather hide."

The Kusanin superior hummed as though agreeing. "Very true," he said. "But not all shinobi risk so much with their secrets as you, do they, teacher? Parents are very particular with their children, after all. Even the parents of ninja."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Captain Shouda had a long nose, hitched just once from a former break. He learned forward until its apex was very near Iruka's. "Murderer."

The teacher could have been seen tensing up across a courtyard. The alarm triggered by this man's first redoubled. "You've been reading my files," he breathed. "You've shouldn't have access –"

The captain ruthlessly interrupted him. "Everything we've done here has been with express permission from your Hokage, Sensei. If you'd like, you're welcome to speak to her about it."

It had to be a lie, but Shouda obviously knew enough about Iruka's relationship with Tsunade to be sure he wouldn't dare confirm it.

The man spoke again, and this time his tact had changed. He actually had the audacity to reach forward, his hand resting on Iruka's shoulder. "Gently, Sensei. I'm not here for your destruction. Not unless you force me."

"Then what are you here for?" Iruka felt as though he'd asked this question a dozen times.

Creases built in the captain's face. He explained, "Konoha has always had Jounin trainers, for generations. But those men have their trainees for less than two years. Everything else came from the academy. Is it any wonder that it is the newest generation of Konoha that have caught the attention of the world? You're so young. One generation. You've brought one group of children all the way through from beginning to end. Time. Does. Not. Lie."

Iruka charged, "Much has changed for the last generation of students. It's arrogant to think that only one teacher – "

Shouda dove onward, "You raised the fox. Not trained him, not guided him – _raised_ him. You treat your students as people before all else, and so your new soldiers are _human_ soldiers – a rare and unprecedented thing. The power of devoted machines, but the minds of men. You look after orphans, you are the village's foster parent. Every child that comes through you is affected. This much I've already seen, and I am amazed. And I'm only the first, Iruka-sensei. We are not the only ones interested in the Konoha sensei, and I think others will find you as surprising as we have."

Iruka looked at him, and for the first time as he faced this man's purported purpose with understanding."You're serious," he said, hardly believing it. "You're serious."

"Oh, yes," the captain said. "I definitely am."

* * *

Kakashi had not been present at the festival long before the parade began, and for a while he stood among the crowd. He smiled because, while his own childhood was bereft of such memories, he was glad that his own sweat and sacrifices had made such events possible. He had fought for such moments as these.

A flash of green caught his eye, confirmed by a bobbing brunette tail. The jounin grinned, pleased to have found his friend so quickly. But as he watched the teacher move closer, his expression began to reorder. Something was wrong. Iruka was moving hastily, against the press of the crowd. Chin tucked, he pushed to make his way to the dark side roads which led away from the celebration.

Wonderingly, Kakashi moved into an intercepting path, reaching out when the younger man was close enough. "Iruka," he hailed, startled when the chuunin jerked against the unexpected grip – had he not see Kakashi at all? – and brought up his head…

The copy-nin had the brief impression of a stricken pallor and _fear_ pressed deep into eyes that were dark with emotion, and then the other shoved past, breaking his startled hold easily and leaving Kakashi alone, dumbfounded as to what could possibly have upset Iruka so much, here of all places.

A trained eye surveyed the milieu with a wary, raptor's gaze. He didn't know why the face ultimately stuck out to him. It wasn't bordered with the distinctive zigzag hitai-ate, and even more than Iruka it was a study in shades of brown, undifferentiated from the background at first glace. Yet Kakashi picked him out almost instantly.

Captain Shouda, Kusanin Ambassador.

Kakashi's eyes hardened like flint.

* * *

Next Chapter: Kakashi confronts the Kusanin ambassador.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

After his confrontation with Iruka, Shouda remained among the crowd, inhaling the spirit of prosperity and unity. A civilian would not have been able to tell that this was a shinobi village; the faces intermingled, the voices sang, the throats drank, the children played. This, combined with the confrontation he had just forced with Iruka, made Shouda feel pensive and determined. The goal and the means stood here, and he had finally set things into motion.

Having seen his fill of the celebration, the captain took his leave. His subordinates had already disappeared. They had protested such a public beginning, but he knew very well that there were times when the wide open meadow could hide as much as a dark, secret colonnade of trees. And the festival, the stricken exit – they had been everything he'd hoped.

All that was left was a short appointment.

He hadn't yet moved beyond one or two streets when instinct gave warning and he was forced to propel himself out of the way of a rain of metal points. His senses swung over the area – a bad position for him – cramped, enclosed. He leapt to gain the higher ground of the rooftops, but a force slammed into him as soon as he left the ground. Rolling, he regained his feet and finally made out his assailant.

He was a silhouette of darker stuff in the alley's quagmire of shadow. Fragments of light falling from between the buildings' eves illuminated his hair, a starling silver-white under the moon. His skin was pale enough to see his outline in the poor light, but his face was almost fully shrouded, black for reasons that Shouda could not at first divine.

Killing charka announced the stranger, more poignant than any introduction. A concussion of fear pressed against Shouda's body like a physical force, and captain though he was, his teeth set jarringly as the world vibrated and his knees melted. Still, he held his ground and remained facing this new adversary, more of less visibly unshaken.

The silver-haired nin was poised, aggressive and angry. "You," he growled.

Shouda puzzled over his identity, before the position of the dark bandana tied over his left eye and the distinctive mask brought up the memory of another legend. No, he thought, stunned. This was _Sharingan_ Kakashi?

Shouda hid his reaction with an expression befitting his position as a foreign ambassador. With great self-possession, he asked, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Another wave of fury made him nauseated, and numbly Shouda though to be impressed by the raw _power_. He thought, _'A less subtle presence than Iruka-sensei, but my!'_

Hatake wasted no words on platitudes. "You are the Kusa investigator, the one who came to spy on Konohagakure."

"I was greeted at your door as a friend," Shouda corrected. "I am an ally, not a spy."

The man accused him, "You were not welcome at Iruka's door."

The expression on Shouda's face visibly shifted as understanding came, and he commented, "Ah, so this is about Iruka, then, rather than about Konohagakure."

"I want you to stop harassing him," Hatake said, bristling. "It is not appreciated."

"I came to observe the Konoha sensei. I was given permission by your own Hokage."

The copy-nin loomed, implacable. "Permission to observe, but not to haunt. I won't allow it."

"I think, perhaps," Shouda said, by way of answer, "that Iruka can manage his own affairs. He's no normal chuunin after all, is he?" The captain had read a great deal about this man in Iruka's more discrete records, and knew the two had worked closely. Hatake had a stake, too, in what Iruka wanted to protect. And that could be used.

Shouda enjoyed the way the great nin turned rigid before he could stop himself. However, his composure quickly reasserted itself, and it was without expression, even shrewdly, that Hatake said, "If you know anything about Iruka, then I have more reason to bring you before the Hokage then for merely stalking."

Shouda burst out laughing. He demanded, "A shinobi, condemned for stalking? Lets remain in the realm of reality, shall we?"

Bluntly, not yet willing to speak of what the Kusanin had hinted that he knew, Kakashi said, "Iruka is a teacher."

"Yes," Shouda agreed. "Relevantly. But he's also a great deal more, although I'm only interested in _that_ in so much as it furthers my objectives. For example, how submissive he might be if his secret dangles too near the public eye."

A passage of soundlessness broke between them like a river. Then Kakashi's voice dipped, toneless admonishment from one shinobi to another. He said, "There are things that shouldn't be known."

How chivalrous, if stupidly high-minded. Shouda ignored his appeal, saying, "There is much about your sensei that isn't known. He isn't even a citizen of your village, and that may be even more significant then the role he plays in dark places."

Irritation became question in the lone eye. "What?"

What bone to throw to this growling dog? He set his net unfalteringly, mixing truth and lies with an experienced deftness. "Are you so close to him, shinobi? But even you don't understand. Your monster tamer and prized sensei is valuable. To men who see their soldiers only as tools, there is little they wouldn't do to get a hold of a particularly talented and valuable weapon. Some might offer more than your Hokage has a right to turn down for just one man."

Kakashi said, "Iruka is not something to be sold or given away like an animal. The Godaime would not trade him off like a beast."

"There is more danger even than that." Shouda offered a carefully worded warning. "She can only turn down an offer if the belonging lies within her claim. No one will bother to ask if they find out Iruka is not from this village. They will simply take him."

Kakshi ducked his chin, obviously mulling over the information. Maybe even remembering Iruka's flight, his fear, because the final thing he asked was, "What did you say to him?"

This time there was no reason to shade the truth. Shouda told him exactly what he'd done: "I reminded Iruka-sensei of just how tenuous his position in this village is. I showed him that his secrets are but feebly hidden. And I convinced him to take the interest other have in him seriously."

Kakashi's visible eye was a slit of lidded black amidst the greater pale of his face, piercing Shouda like a trail of sharp wire. He said, "You shouldn't make me an enemy."

Then he was gone.

Shouda looked after him, facing the horizon that was just visible far beyond the ramshackle buildings where the giant trees blotted out all else. The stark black line they made against the sky stood out like a boundary line to the silent Shouda – the end of Konoha and the beginning of the road home.

To the village, he said, "You're running out of time."

* * *

Iruka hadn't gone very far before the pressure of his pounding heart become so great that he was forced stop and sink against the nearest wall. Back pressed into the concrete, he let his head fall back and breathed, one hand pressed over his chest as he waited for the spots to fade and the wave of _horror _that had washed over him to subside.

'_They knew_,' he thought hopelessly. It required a determined utilization of his will to force down the panic those two words inspired, but once he'd done so, calm stole over him unexpectedly.

He stood there afterward, staring into the blue serenity of his mind. Yes. So they knew, he thought. He'd always known there might come a time when his more discrete work as a shinobi would be revealed. He'd known that he was borrowing time, and suddenly it shamed him that he had reacted so strongly to Shouda's threats.

"What a fool you've been, Iruka," he chastised himself. How pleased the Kusanin must be with themselves. He sighed, very long and sadly. "You knew this would come one day."

A memory of his classroom came upon him strongly, and he found himself blinking hard on the sting of welling loss. It was hard…hard to resign oneself to the loss of everything you'd ever loved. And especially them, his students.

Weariness sunk into him, hollowing him out. He responded to the lack of sensation in his knees by allowing himself to slide down against the cold support of the wall, folding inward. The smell of stone was sharp in his nose, and he laid his head against his knees with a tired exhale.

'_Sarutobi, I wish you were here_,' he thought, not for the first time. He was trying his best to do the job he'd been entrusted with, but he sorely missed having at least one person looking out for _him_.

Iruka wasn't alone for long, however, even if the transition was jarring. Thunder clouds come with noise, but when another kind of silver-grey storm descended, it did so without warning. One moment there was no one – just Iruka, breathing in the night – and then there was Kakashi the copy-nin, formerly called Hound, appearing before him and dragging him up bodily from the ground.

"Kakashi," Iruka exclaimed. It wasn't directed precisely at him, but the jounin was projecting _danger_ in strong, vibrating waves that struck against Iruka's narrower spectrum with force enough to clinch up every muscle in his body. But Kakashi was his friend, so he pulled up one shaking hand and laid it against one of the forearms gripping his shoulders.

The other man was trembling too. The chuunin could feel the tremors in the tense cords under his fingers. It had been a long time since he'd seen the jounin so upset. Iruka called again, "Kakashi."

At the deepest level he had not been afraid, but he was still relieved when the stormy black eye softened like a mist. Kakashi didn't let Iruka go, but the talon-like grip loosened, and even though the muffle of the dark mask, Iruka heard him take a deep, calming breath.

"We need to talk," the jounin began.

It didn't take but a moment for Iruka to realize what had to have happened, and another spike of disgust tore through him. He shouldn't have left the festival like that, dashing away from Kakashi like a prey animal.

Kakashi didn't give him time to voice these thoughts, however. Bitingly, the man said, "He claims you're in danger."

The harsh tone clearly covered a question. He wanted to know what was going on. Iruka didn't blame him, but he didn't know where to start. "What did he tell you?"

"He knows more than he should. Much more."

Iruka nodded. "That's okay, Kakashi. I knew it wasn't a secret I'd be able to keep forever."

The note of resignation seemed to infuriate Kakashi. He snapped, "You don't' have anything to be ashamed of! You do for Konoha what any other shinobi would."

But he was railing against reality now, not the Kusanin. Iruka keenly sympathized, and, moreover, he was grateful for the outrage on his behalf. However, he was too grounded, too used to life's essential unfairness to rage over _that_ anymore.

He answered, "Surrender – for whatever reason – violates people's sense of self. It wouldn't be understood as duty. And as for slaughter, well, you know as well as I that murder is what it is, even if you're being paid for it. There's a reason those missions are filed in sealed folders."

The copy-nin's visible eye seemed as cold as the silver as his hair in that moment. "I have dozens of those sealed folders under my name."

Iruka sagged, weary. "Maybe so, but people give me their babies, Kakashi. If some of my mission details came out, my whole character would come into question. You understand, don't you? It's not just that they'd call me a murderer. Teachers never survive those kinds of inquiries into their reputation. I'd never be trusted alone with a child again."

Kakashi knew that. Of course he knew. It was evident from the way he let Iruka free with a growl, turning to prowl. When he finally stopped, it was with the impression of a drawn bow string, taught with potential energy.

"He told me you weren't a citizen of Konoha."

It took a moment for Iruka to process the change in the conversation's direction. "You know that isn't really true," he answered finally. "I was born in Wave country, but I gained rank here. I've been a Konoha shinobi for all my life."

Kakashi made another statement-question. "The Hokage might not be able to protect you."

"The Godaime can guard whomever she wishes," Iruka responded truthfully, though it wasn't a wholly comforting thought to him. "But by right of birth, no, she's not obligated."

"That's part of this, isn't it?" Kakashi asked. "It's been part of this from the beginning. Since that very first mission."

Iruka ducked his head. He'd long suspected it to be true. Sarutobi had been kinder, but Tsunade had never liked him and had been far less subtle in her statement of his position. Ibiki had been equally plain.

"I am a servant, like all shinobi" he said finally. Still, some latent bitterness lingered in his mouth, and he spat it out without thinking, "But I do pay more than rent to stay in this village."

As soon as he'd finished speaking, Iruka regretted it; Kakashi would burrow to the bottom of any unspeakable thing. He had that look on his face now, the hound-dog look that wouldn't loose its jaws until he had what he wanted.

"Iruka," he said. "Once your Shadow granted me an answer in the middle of a desert. Do you remember that time?"

Sullenly, Iruka put down his eyes. Kakashi had only guesses about how much Iruka knew of that fortnight when his clone had kept the jounin company at the edge of a steppe. He was reluctant to talk about it, but he knew about Kakashi's question.

"Iruka," Kakashi summoned his attention again. His expression was painfully earnest. "We aren't just acquaintances anymore, or semi-hostile colleagues. What the Kusanin said tonight…if you're in danger…" He shook his head. "I know you resent it, but I want to guard you. Please. Tell me the whole story."

It might have surprised others to know it, but in his life, Iruka had never had more than a few friends. Of those few, one had betrayed him, while many of the others were dead. Since then, trust was something he kept close to his vest, something he withheld while dispensing easy smiles to all that he knew and leaving his love for the children. Yet he trusted Kakashi. He didn't know precisely when along the way it had happened, but he did.

Kakashi had latched onto his wrist – protective or preponderant. Iruka gave it a tug. "Come on," he assented. "If we're going to have this conversation, I'd rather be under the sky."

* * *

Next Chapter: Kakashi and Iruka chase down a few old mysteries. And there are pinwheels.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

The rooftops of Konoha were a second home to her shinobi, as familiar as any footpath on the lower levels. It was just another dimension of the city, as a part of its infrastructure as the trees. And it was lounging upon the colored clay tiles of one such roof that Iruka and Kakashi reconvened, quieter now, as though they'd left the nights disrupting emotions far below.

Iruka spread his toes in the blue blanket of the night. Some shinobi had rigged little foil pinwheels at random over the roofs, and they flickered in the inconsistent light. He allowed his neck to fall back and soak in the sight of both the false and real stars. Exhaling, he murmured, "I love this village."

Kakashi drank in the familiar tapestry and it comforted him, too. If the fear he had felt so short a time ago had not been so cold or deeply embedded, he might almost have forgotten it under this home sky. But he needed an explanation. His connection with Iruka had gone beyond curiosity, beyond the puzzle. He needed to understand the shadowy web that was binding all of this together.

"I know your family were refugees from Wave." He was aware of that much from half-finished conversations and one very interesting exchange with a clone.

Iruka shifted. "No. Well, yes. That is, my father was a Mist nin."

"Honestly?" Kakashi couldn't help his reaction, although it made sense in its way. Wave wasn't a shinobi village; it was an archipelago of closely interlocking islands, a community of those who made their living from the sea. If both Iruka's parents had been ninja... But Mist. It was no wonder there had been restrictions laid on Iruka's family. At the current time, Mist was practically an enemy state. "A missing nin?" he sought clarification.

"Ah," Iruka vocalized. "The truth is that I'm not certain. I'm not sure why he left, but I always believed they thought he was dead, since so far as I know, he was never pursued."

Hunter-nin chased down renegades, and none more zealously than the Village Hidden in the Mist. Kakashi sat back, tilting his head towards the starry expanse. "He went to Wave?"

"And met my mother there," Iruka nodded. "Though I'm not certain that she didn't have a bloodline from elsewhere herself. They're a friendly people in that country, and many nin pass through coming and going." He shrugged. "Possibly I have a grandparent or great grandparent from Konoha after all."

Or from Sunagakure or Kumogakure, Kakashi thought. It was impossible to know; if it had been an impermanent liaison then it was likely even the woman had not known. It was a wholly strange concept to Kakashi, he, a ninja from a village where bloodline and limit meant so much. _'You're a tangled web of mysteries, aren't you, Sensei,'_ Kakashi thought, _'and you stand there all wrapped and twisted in the strings, grinning at them as though they don't faze you at all.'_

"Anyway," Iruka gestured with one hand, as though largely unconcerned with what he was saying. "That's about all I know. My father took my mother's name: Umino. I was born in a small village. I grew up next to the ocean."

"But not for long. How old were you when you came to Konoha?"

"Mm. Six. Before then, though, my family was in a camp. We were driven out of our home – raiders, maybe, I don't remember. We fled as refuges and were rounded up by soldiers. They didn't call us prisoners of war. Perhaps because, formally, there was no war." He paused, looking off contemplatively. "They were hard times."

"You came to Konoha for protection?" Kakashi asked.

Iruka shook his head, "I don't know."

"You don't know."

Sharply, Iruka answered, "No, Kakashi. The truth is that by that time I hardly cared where I went."

Mild chagrin made the other blink. But instead of acknowledging it, he simply wondered, "And the rest is history?"

"Hm." The chuunin sat back, staring off over the fissured upper levels. "My family served Konoha faithfully, and they died defending it against the Kyuubi. After that, I inherited their legacy. Suspicion, monitoring, reports. Konohagakure is benevolent, but not foolhardy."

Kakashi could never have been considered naïve, and so he was able to swallow what Iruka said without choking. But that didn't prevent the bad taste it left in his mouth. How distasteful. "The Kusanin warned me that there are those that might offer what the Godaime has no right to refuse," he intimated. With a wry grin that went unseen beneath his mask, he remarked, "I told him that our Hokage would not sell a citizen of Konoha."

Perhaps he should have expected Iruka's swell of temper. He fluffed like an outraged songbird. "I _am_ a citizen of Konoha."

"Suna won't think so," Kakashi answered back, by way of example. His mind was making connections now. "That Kusanin bastard was right. You're in danger, and not just because of Tsunade."

Iruka huffed. "I think that's a little dramatic."

Maybe. But Kakashi wasn't convinced it wasn't true. Iruka learned forward to peer into his face. He said, "Kakashi, I appreciate your concern. But things have always been this way."

Kakashi withdrew. Eyes hard, his voice deep with premonition, he intoned, "Things are going to get ugly."

The chuunin didn't say anything, but simply sat there staring at him. Finally, a wane grin flitted to his lips, "You turned out to be an unexpectedly diligent friend, Kakashi. Thank you."

The copy-nin met those idiotically communicative brown eyes, and somehow it made his stomach sour to be thanked for caring if the man was abducted or sold into bondage because of the circumstances of his birth. A common acquaintance should do more than that. Hell, a stranger should do more than that. This only turned his intentions into steel.

"Whoever comes, they won't hurt you," he promised Iruka, pinning him with a look of strong determination that dared to be contradicted. Still, Kakashi could see the lingering disbelief, or was Iruka just resigned to whatever happened?

Iruka was quiet for a pause, and then his face stretched into the pleased expression he wore when something had satisfied him. He directed this towards Kakashi, and to the jounin's displeasure it was an almost gentle, forgiving expression. "Thank you. But if things go wrong, I won't blame you." The grin widened. "After all, it's really none of your business."

Kakashi thought that argument had stopped being fair after their second mission together when it had became a mote point that they were what any normal person would call friends. Iruka had become his business; he'd practically signed a contract.

Seeing the stubbornness in his eye, Iruka let it go, leaning back against his palms on the rough tiles. "Fine," he said. "If you must be such a meddlesome stalker about it."

The jab almost, almost brought a smirk to Kakashi's lips. "It's my nature, you know. It's why I'm such a good ninja."

A roll of eyes. "Yes. The way of the ninja. In which privacy becomes a toilet down which all your secrets are flushed, never to be seen again."

"Privacy?" Kakashi tasted the word as though it confused him.

"Right," Iruka countered dryly. "This would be a concept you would find unfamiliar."

"You're always so harsh, Sensei," the jounin complained.

"It's because you're so annoying."

The old fallback.

Meanwhile the night rolled navy, the clouds casting shadow over the sieve of stars so that they filtered down on the two watching in an intermittent sprinkle. Resting comfortably in this possibly temporal peace, they dangled their legs over the roofs of Konoha, heels kicking slightly. The pinwheels descended in spirals, and softly, into the quiet, Iruka chanted a scrap of poetry:

"_Take flight the shrouded butterfly,_

_Into the night, where black bleeds the paint away._

_Hide now the wings that carried you,_

_Into the blotted, penetrating grey._

_Think of yourself, lonely little one,_

_Flutterer of empty, misted shade._

_And expect no kisses of farewell:_

_Nobody misses you."_

It seemed a fairly ominous way to speak at such a time. Yet Kakashi vowed that no harm would come to Iruka. Not while he had anything to do with it.

* * *

Shouda had kept his appointment after all, even with the interruption he'd met outside the square. His feet carried him to the impressive tower, hung with Konoha's symbols. The guards did not turn him away. He was an official, after all, a guest ambassador. Inside, he strode with end-game confidence, his dark brow drawn low across his stately forehead.

"Captain," the Godaime greeted him when he entered. "I would have thought you'd be taking in the end of the festival."

"I've already been," he assured her. "But now I need to speak with you. About Umino Iruka."

"Did you find him after all?" she asked, setting aside her stylus. And for the first time during this interview her face had a bit of smugness to it.

It spite of himself, it made Shouda angry. "I found exactly what I sought," he retaliated. "Even though you would have hidden him with your sarcasm and his ignorance. Even so, I found your legend, Hokage."

She did not react to his revelation. She was too completely Sannin, too completely Kage for that. Instead, she refuted his claim, snorting, "Legend. Iruka-sensei is no one of consequence in Konohogakure. We tolerate him, let him do simple work like teaching our infants. You mistake his uniqueness, Ambassador."

The woman sounded so sincere. It was astonishing. "The man has the power to build Konoha's armies to devastating proportions. You do not acknowledge that in him?"

The Hokage laughed as though genuinely amused by his words. "Captain Shouda, I don't think you understand," she told him, and her smile was anything but kind. "If you know as much about Iruka as I suspect, then you must realize he isn't simply a teacher. We took him in, kept him when his parents died. We put him to work. His skills are…useful, to say the least."

Shouda pressed his lips together, soundlessly considering. Finally he decided, speaking almost to himself, "There was a time that I wondered if you were a fool, but you – like your smiling Konoha – are shrewder and more cold blooded than you appear. For this reason, I'll be frank. I want Iruka. I want him for Kusagakure."

That caught her attention. Whatever she had expected from him, it had not been that. She leaned forward slowly, "You must be mad."

His back was very straight. "Do you think so? I assure you I'm not."

"You've demanded one of my shinobi. Do you really think I would honor such a request?"

"By your own admission, I haven't asked for anyone you consider very important. I may even be doing you a favor. I know you don't care for him. Why, his record for insubordination is well documented. And well noted among your people."

"He belongs to this village," Tsunade said shortly.

"In a bastardly sort of way, perhaps," Shouda persisted, pleased to see another flicker in her eye. "Ah, yes, I know that, too. I know a lot about Iruka, just as you said."

The candles lighting the room flickered as Tsunade reclined in her chair. Russet eyes bore into him like twin embers for a long moment before she spoke. "It's out of the question."

Shouda stared directly into those burning eyes, unafraid and sheltered by his own fire. "Unfortunately, I've already made up my mind," he said. "You will be richly compensated. But in the name of friendship between Konohagakure and Kusagakure, in the name of rebuilding your ally – give me the teacher."

A frown, deep at the corners of her mouth. "I don't appreciate being bullied about my own people, in my own village," came the dangerous charge.

"My associates and I have done nothing you have not allowed. We sought Umino, as you suggested. We will be gone before our three days are through, as you requested."

Her shoulders drew up. "You've crossed a line."

"For requesting a trade? And for one you yourself admitted was nothing special? Even in his…_other_ capacity, you could easily find a replacement. " He demanded of her, "Which would you rather have – a wealth of gold and the continued stability of your alliances? Or bloodshed over an insolent vessel?

She steepled her fingers before her face. But they already knew there was only one sensible answer here. Finally, she dropped her eyes. Just as he'd thought.

"Just hold loose your hand, Lady Tsunade," he said. "That's all I ask of you. It will be quiet."

She said nothing, though he was allowed to leave unquestioned. His men were waiting for him just outside, still unnaturally dressed in their long, formal robes. Their eyes sought his, wondering. He assured them, "Yes. We're going ahead. She practically gave consent."

"Captain," Keno's voice had a note of uncertainty in it. He and Ri-Tou were standing very close together, clearly uneasy. "We're not sure about this. We weren't sent –"

Shouda hushed him. The burning sensation that had been steadily enflaming him persisted now at its hottest apex. He thought of Kusagakure, and a throng of thin, young faces in a field of grass. "Have you no loyalty?" he asked, and the others muted.

* * *

Next Chapter: Captain Shouda and his men make their move.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

After passing what remained of the night in a restless sleep, it was nonetheless by the earliest yellow light that Iruka sat up and stubbornly resolved to go about his day as he usually would. When they had parted some hours ago, Kakashi had sworn to him that he would speak to the Hokage about the Kusanin and their threats. But for now – for now, everything was as it had been. He was still a teacher, and still a Konoha shinobi of good standing.

So he got up and tied back his hair, and – because it wasn't a weekday – prepared what he needed for a morning spent tutoring some of the village's youngest children. They met him cheerfully when he entered, and his hands lingered over their heads perhaps a little longer than usual. He soaked in their sweet, dimpled grins and determined, squinty-eyed faces as they leaned over their course work, wondering…wondering if he had much longer to enjoy this.

A crumpled paper was forced into his fist, and hopeful eyes blinked. The toddler lisped, "Ru-ka, lookit."

The chuunin smiled at the crude drawing of the winged insect, mirrored by an even less distinguishable symbol trailing down the side. He laughed, tracing the picture with his finger. "It's very good," he praised, and drew the child up beside him on the bench so he could guide the tiny hand once more through the symbol strokes, twice. "Butterfly."

"Budderfry," the baby grinned proudly. She marked it again and again.

Iruka loved being a teacher.

The end of the session came too soon, as parents came to collect their children for lunch. Distracted with the ache of watching them go, Iruka didn't notice the way the adults' hands lingered on his arm, or the way their looks caught on his downcast face. He didn't notice their worry, and he didn't know what word they spread upon leaving. All he knew was that he was sad, and almost sick with it.

Finally, only one of his charges remained, young Kouichi whose father was a widower and wasn't able to pick him up. Happily, the little boy extended his hand when the teacher had finished gathering his belongings. "Ready now!" he crowed, clinging to Iruka's fingers.

The walk home was uneventful. It was only as they reached the front of the child's house that events shifted. In the space of a heartbeat, the pavement around them filled, and suddenly Ri-Tou the giant loomed behind him once again.

"Captain Shouda," Iruka greeted him formally, his hand creeping protectively over his charge's head. "I'd hoped not to see you again while you were still breathing."

"That's cold, sensei," the ambassador shook his head solemnly. "And after all the effort I've made for your benefit."

The fierce little ball of defiance that had always dwelt in Iruka easily batted away notions of acquiescence and common sense. It took the form of sarcasm. "By working for my benefit do you mean harassing me, illegally seizing my private records and threatening to disclose them, or menacing me and my children?"

Shouda frowned. "I've already told you that seeking your records was directly correspondent to my mission. I regret the hostility you're showing, Iruka. I'd hoped we could be very good friends."

His cool, detached demeanor was as unsettling now as it had been the night of the festival. Involuntarily, the teacher felt his nerves jangle, twisting in a shiver all up and down his spine. All Iruka could see in this man was _drive_. And driven men were a narrow foot-path crossing away from crazed.

"Sensei…" A whine. Kouichi's paws were white. Barely two, he couldn't possibly understand the subtle menace pressed between the words exchanged here, but he _felt_ as well as any instinct-driven creature, and he was afraid. He rubbed his nose against his guardian, seeking comfort.

The ambassador looked down on him. "Smart little boys would know to be quiet," he warned, and the baby pressed his face even more firmly into his teacher's leg.

Iruka had to grit his teeth hard not to physically attack the man, keenly aware of the sharp little fingers digging into his side, the soft head under the heel of his palm. With careful control, he demanded, "Let him go back to his father."

Ri-Tou stepped closer, so near that Iruka could feel the toes of the man's sandals against his heels. And then Iruka felt he nip of sharp pain between a ridge of his vertebrae. His leader said, "Yes, he may go now." He looked around the bright, full neighborhood. It was no place for a violent struggle at knife-point. "He's served his purpose."

Iruka spoke softly to the boy, using his most calming voice. "Kouichi, let go of me now. Are you listening? It's time for you to go inside."

The toddler looked up at him, expression bereft. Children always knew more than reason could explain. "Come too," he insisted, but his teacher gravely shook his head.

"I can't, little one. I have to talk to these men now. You'll have to tell your papa 'hi' for me, okay?"

A crawling up, fretful whine of pure panic rose, but Iruka's firm expression was able to do what entreaties could not. The child reluctantly let go and, with encouragement, turned and waddled haltingly into his house. Iruka waited until they were completely alone before, face twisting, he demanded, "Have you sufficiently feed your ego on a little child's fear?"

"That was not about ego, Sensei," Shouda denied. "Only practicality. I don't want a scene. But we've come to the end of all things. You're coming with us to Kusagakure."

"Like hell I am," Iruka snapped, only to jump as Ri-Tou's knife tip scraped over the thinly covered bone. An unmistakable warning. Paralysis was worse than death in the shinobi world.

"This doesn't have to be hard, Sensei," Shouda said, even as the pinnacle of the tyrannous blade bore more deeply into the hollow of his back. "I've seen every record on you in this village. And if any doubt remained, my visit with your Hokage cleared it. You're not valued here. Think of how good a fresh start could be. You'll be needed in Kusagakure. Respected."

"Respect," Iruka hissed, low between his teeth. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that.

"You wouldn't have to be a prisoner." The captain took a step forward, near enough that he was looking down at the chuunin's face. Iruka tried to draw back, but the kunai was still there, biting through his shirt. There wasn't even a hair of backward space for him to move into.

Shouda requested, "Come with us willingly, Sensei. Walk out of this place. If I have to, I will carry you to my country dangling over my saddle. But I don't want to do that to you. It would be a bad start."

Iruka refused to look at him. Impotent anger rolled in his stomach. "You're a deceiver and a fiend," he accused. "You've been planning this from the beginning, even as you sat across from me in my house telling me of your past. Even as you warned my friend to beware of other shinobi villages."

"It was a truth bred with a lie. But I'm not lying now," the Kusanin captain said. His eyes sparked, a little fey. "I'm going to save my people by rescuing you."

"You're delusional if you would kidnap me and call it a rescue!" Iruka was unable to contain his indignation any longer. Only Ri-Tou snatching his arm and bending him over the blade kept the chuunin from doing something foolish.

"I should strike you," Shouda told the chuunin frankly after a contemplative moment. The charcoal pits where his eyes had been were dried out like smoking tender, ever threatening to flare. He warned, "My country isn't so kind as yours, Sensei. You won't like it if you choose to go as a prisoner. But I'm going to give you a chance to learn that before you test yourself against less merciful men."

And with that he turned his rigid back, gesturing to his men. "Let's go."

* * *

That morning, Kakashi had sought out Genma. He knew that Genma had been assigned to the Kusanin and had met their leader, and after the unsettling events of the night before he felt a strong need for a second opinion about Captain Shouda. Instinct told him that the man was dangerous, but his objectivity was decidedly compromised.

"You threatened the ambassador?" the Tokubetsu Jounin had wondered, but not really with any surprise. He heaved a sigh, scratching his forehead. "Alright. Then what happened?"

It was hard to tell when Kakashi's eye was narrowed because his gaze was always lidded. Yet there was a gruffness in his response when he accused, "You're not paying attention. He threatened Iruka."

Genma looked slightly discomforted. "I knew that he followed Umino-sensei home, but I was told they just sat around talking for a few hours."

"This man does things with words that we wouldn't allow with weapons," Kakashi summed up his thoughts on the matter, then continued, "Anyway I'm talking about the festival last night. They…they knew things they shouldn't, Genma."

The man met the copy-nin's gaze directly. "What did they know?"

It was a question that he had every right to ask, but even so Kakashi wasn't sure he could answer. He considered it seriously, warring between Iruka's privacy and his immediate safety, but ultimately he decided that Genma needed to understand. Even so, he answered as efficiently as possible: "Iruka is more than just a teacher. But if his identity is compromised, he may not even be that."

Dimly resonate stunned surprise. Then understanding, and a professionally blank face. "I see," Genma murmured, and shook his head. "This is serious, then."

"Very," Kakashi agreed.

* * *

Next Chapter: The Kusanin attempt to leave the village with Iruka.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

As with most protected places, getting out of Konoha proved easier than getting in. Even with an intensely reluctant party, they managed to pass outside the wall where the forest was deepest. Carefully, they made their way until the soft whiney of a horse reached Shouda's ear, followed by a distant hoof-beat on the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Almost feverishly, Shouda smiled. Home, as he'd planned. Home, with the teacher they needed. Home, with the shepherd.

His gaze raked over the man upon whom all his hopes rested, seeing the lines of resistance throughout his unwilling body. Ri-Tou had already had to be tough with him, had already had to leave marks on him. And he would attempt to escape if he could, might even try to kill himself. Maybe.

The captain pressed his lips together. It didn't matter. He forced images to the front of his mind, of the way Iruka's face would transform when he stepped through the grass of his homeland and was escorted among the dwellings, overflowing with people. They'd touch his face, and the children would crowd his knees and he'd realize that what Shouda was doing was right. He'd stop struggling then.

All Shouda had to do was make sure Iruka got there. Everything else, he convinced himself, would come with time.

They'd reached the clearing where they'd moved the horses. There was a fretful putter as one of the animals blew through its lips, tugging at its reigns. "Easy," Keno reached to stroke the mount, though his own expression remained anxious. He turned, waiting silently on his captain's instructions.

Shouda stepped up to Iruka's back and leaned forward so that his soft words would not carry through the branches bearing down over their heads, densely viridian. "One day," he promised. "You will thank me for this."

The teacher's clinched teeth distorted his reply. "Abductor. Liar," he hissed, and his fierce brown eyes darted to anchor on Shouda's. "But never a savior. You should remember that."

The man looked down on his captive impassively. It didn't matter what he said. He didn't know anything.

"He'll ride with you, Ri-Tou," he ordered, and the restraining hand over Iruka's shoulder tightened. They mounted swiftly and turned their heads to the west. Then the forest swallowed them up as though it was glad to see them go.

* * *

Genma and Kakashi were still together when they were accosted by a man wearing a leather jerkin and smelling of sawdust. His arms were full of a red-faced toddler, still wetting his father's shoulder with a streaked, sticky face. He grasped Kakashi's shirt sleeve as they passed on the street, drawing them to a halt.

"Yes?" Kakashi asked, a little archly. His eye ghosted the civilian garb, flicking over but not settling on the strong, clinched jaw and the baby tucked firmly under it.

"You're Hatake," the man said uncertainly. His eyes were on the copy-nin's hair, sliding over his shielded eye, his cowled face. Shifting his son's weight, and asked urgently, "Iruka-sensei – you're his Hatake?"

Slightly taken aback by the association, uncertain how to meet such a description, Kakashi nonetheless found himself answering; "You know Iruka?"

The man nodded affirmative. "Iruka-sensei teaches my boy. He always feeds Kouichi lunch since I can't get away from work, but today when I got home, my son was alone." He balked then, his forehead furrowed. "Hatake-san, he says he was with Iruka-sensei when they were approached by those foreigners."

The child hiccupped, stammering, "Bad guys. Ruuu-u-ka."

A thrill of fear electrified Kakashi, drawing him completely from his slouch. Without full comprehension of what he was doing, he lurched to grip the little boy, demanding, "What did you say?"

Genma interceded immediately, sweeping the agitated copy-nin away from the stricken pair. Beneath his breath, he growled, "_Kakashi, get control of yourself!_" Then, flashing an earnest, placating look into the father's flushed face, he drew the senbon from his mouth. "Kouichi? I'm sorry that he frightened you like that. He won't do it again, will you, shinobi-san?" he hissed over his shoulder.

It took all of Kakashi's concentration to tuck his chin in some simulation of agreement.

The Tokubetsu Jounin peered earnestly into the child's face. "We need to know what happened. Can you take a deep breath, for Iruka-sensei?" And when the child had taken a shuddering, snotty inhale, he continued, "What happened?"

"Bad guys. Scary." He curled tighter into the cusp of his father's neck. "Ruka says, 'go inside.'"

"Did they have a ninja plate? With zigzags?" Genma demonstrated with a finger.

The baby nodded, nose scrunched. He confirmed, "Three bad men."

A grim exchange passed between the shinobi. Kakashi was physically vibrating with rage. "They said other villages might be coming. He told me…" Subterfuge and lies. The captain had _wanted_ him to think the threat would come from somewhere else, and he had swallowed it, as sure as a drug in his drink.

The civilian father brushed the bristles on his chin, a fretful gesture. "Has something happened to Iruka-sensei?"

Genma did not choose to answer him. Cursorily, he remarked, "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We'll take care of it now."

His dismissive response caused something hard to seep into the man's stormy eyes. His child still sitting squarely on his hip, he said, "With all due respect, shinobi-san, he isn't only your concern."

The two jounin stared at him, but finally Kakashi said, "I don't know what may have happened yet, but I swear to you that if he's in danger, I will do everything in my power to help him."

His answer seemed to pass muster, though the man's mouth was still a grim line as he strode away. Once he had gone, Genma muttered, "This doesn't bode well, Kakashi. What would they want with him? Surely they wouldn't dare to leave the village."

"They would." Kakashi was suddenly sure of it. His teeth ground together. "That clever bastard. I'm going after them."

"No," his friend's fingers bore into his arm. "We have to report this to the Hokage. If they've breeched their contract here, then it's an act of war. She needs to know."

But all that the copy-nin could think of was the teacher's pale face under a sky of scattered stars. Of promises and absolution, and all of that crumbling to pieces as miles and miles of forest were put between them while he did nothing. He grunted, "No."

However, Genma was resolute. "_Kakashi_, we don't even know what's happened yet, but if they have left and you go after them alone, unsanctioned by your leader, outnumbered, unsupported… It would be unspeakably foolish. You wouldn't get him back, but you might drive them to kill their hostage." His weapon clicked in the cusp of his gritted teeth. "Or you might force Iruka to watch _you_ die right in front of him."

Damn him, but he was right. Kakashi broke the restraining grip, but made no attempt to leave. "Alright," he acquiesced. "I'll meet you at the tower."

"Kakashi –"

"I'll be along, I swear it, Genma," he repeated, and waited until the glowering jounin finally acceded. Kakashi watched until he was well out of sight before moving into a crevice between two sheltering buildings. His blood drew thick lines, and then his primary summon appeared, glaring dourly. But whatever sarcastic groan the animal intended died over his open jowls when he saw the flint in his master's visible eye.

"Boss?" he muttered instead, clearly concerned. As well he should be.

"Could you find Naruto?" Urgency was thrumming through him as though it was laced with his blood.

The pug cocked his head, clearly unsettled by the man's brusque demeanor, his rigorous concentration. He must also have been confused by the backdrop of their city, indicating that this was no true mission. "What do you need that puppy for?" he asked, but when Kakashi's gaze only intensified, the dog's name tersely on his lips – _Pakkun_ – he lowered his head and snuffled. "Yeah, I can find him. Why?"

"Bring him here as quickly as you can," Kakashi ordered. His mind was already meditating darkly on the audience ahead. He foresaw difficulty, obstacles that might be surmounted if only the boy was present. "Tell him that it's about Iruka."

Dark canine eyes rounded among the folds of skin, and a low whine made its way out of his mouth. "Kakashi –" he began.

"Now," the jounin cut him off. He fought the twitch that jerked his muscles toward the wall, toward the west, but Genma was right. He couldn't do this alone. "Bring him to the Hokage's tower," he said again, sanctioning no argument or call for explanation. "And, Pakkun – hurry."

* * *

Next Chapter: Tsunade does not tell Kakashi what he wants to hear, and Naruto shows up.

Author's Note: A brief word of explanation. "Mythos of a Shepherd" was originally a nine chaptered story which ended just as the Kusanin passed Konoha's walls. However, some readers left plaintive inquiries about the sad, needy children of Kusagakure, and their words warped my brain until forty more pages of story found their way into expression. I still blame them.

Dedication: To **Ally Plz **and **xDelta-Ha-chanx**. Without your innocent comments, Iruka would be curled up in his apartment eating ramen by now. Instead, he will be dragged by the scalp into a foreign land where he shall suffer injury, harsh treatment, and degradation with very little hope of rescue. I hope you are quite happy with yourselves.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Tsunade was not available when Kakashi presented himself.

Bewildered, he looked to Genma, but the man only shook his head. The ANBU guards were standing very straight outside the office door, unusually somber even in their faceless masks. Fighting auras broadcasted their willingness to make the preservation of the cloistered sanctum a martial matter if pressed – obviously they'd been issued a special directive.

So they waited.

The moments waxed and withered, the sun setting outside the nearest window. Kakashi prowled, unaware of the way his mood was scattering the nerves of everyone present, both the tense guards and his friend, who stood with his arms folded and his back strangely bent. The restlessness he broadcasted was palpable, and it condensed the atmosphere.

Finally, the copy-nin ruptured: "What are we waiting for? Why won't she see us?" Whirling images were tangling his mind, and he thrashed to free himself of them – of a deceitful mouth under tar-black eyes, moving grotesquely as it seeded him with lies; of Iruka's face, fading ever more distant. He snapped at the unmoving statuary of human flesh, "Call it your duty if you like, but delaying us like this amounts to human sacrifice!"

The ANBU did not visibly flinch, but Kakashi had stood behind those masks once.

"He's right." Genma's voice echoed from his shoulder. "We've been here for too long. Either the Godaime has not been informed of the seriousness of our report –" A grave infraction indeed, if it had indeed been perpetrated. "Or she is deliberately ignoring us for some other reason. Either way, we need to see her. Now."

The guards did not have to speak to transmit their message: that no one, not even the most celebrated of shinobi, could _demand_ to see the Hokage. However, before the silence was able to hang, a crack split the portal behind them, and a somber, oval face peeked out.

"Shiranui, Hatake," Shizune said, nodding to them briefly. She diplomatically ignored their stiff indifference to her niceties, just as they would collectively overlook the relevance of her sudden presence. The door opened a fragment wider. "Lord Tsunade will speak with you now."

Kakashi didn't have the same issues with Tsunade that Iruka did; he had his own, certainly, but usually they did not smother the admiration he held for her as a shinobi, or the respect she'd won as his leader. There was an understanding between them, an ease. Which was why it was so disturbing to be ushered into the familiar chamber and find her sitting like a column of black cloud, braced with the entire space of her formidable desk between them. Her smooth face was distorted by its rigidity, expressionless and foreboding _closed_.

Inside, Kakashi almost balked. The worm in his gut that had expected something like this, that had listed and gnawed over Iruka's words about _'suspicion, monitoring, reports'_ and '_more than rent_' writhed, and he could only comfort himself with his foresight in sending Pakkun. Genma's presence, at least, gave him time to gain composure.

"My Lord Hokage," Genma said, stepping forward and presenting himself. He was wary, though; Kakashi could see the thread of edginess in his eyes, and at once he felt sorry he had not explained the situation more fully. There were undercurrents here that the Tokubetsu Jounin simply could not understand, and yet he stood, braving the breakwater in support of his comrade…_comrades_.

Because Iruka was like a hovering phantom in the room, ephemeral between Kakashi and his Lord.

"I'm afraid we have some ugly intelligence, Hokage," Genma reported. "A civilian claims that his son was with Iruka-sensei when they encountered the Kusanin. We have good reason to suspect that they might have left the village with him."

This grim pronouncement should have provoked alarm; the very idea that so great an infraction might have taken place within Konoha's own walls _should_ have caused outrage, immediate ventures for confirmation, an investigation, arrest. Instead, Tsunade continued to sit very still, her face an implacable façade.

This obviously confused Genma, because he tried again, "My Lord Hokage –"

"That will be enough, Shiranui. I heard you well enough the first time," Tsunade interrupted him with a flutter of her hand. "Iruka is not in the village?"

"We don't know for certain." The man paused to glance towards Kakashi, who was standing with an eye like a predator, very glassy and sharp. "But taking into account some of the captain's statements, I think it's possible that abducting him may have been their premeditated goal. Also, I was intercepted on the way here and informed that the Kusanin have managed to go missing. I sent a cell to search, but…" The catch in his voice was just noticeable. "For the moment, at least, we don't know where they are."

Kakashi was simmering with impatience. He'd promised, and though the soft absolution Iruka had spoken repeated itself continuously, a whisper in his ear – _'I forgive you' – _Kakashi still had to ground his teeth, seeking some semblance of calm. He hissed within his own mind,_ 'Damn you for your pardons, Iruka,'_ but it didn't help. With great mental effort, he forced his focus into the restrictive little box that was the present.

"We're losing time," he demanded. "Give me a team."

But the Godaime seemed to possess none of his urgency. Her shoulder rose, a gesture which, had it not been so tight, might have been considered indifferent. She said, "Who knows where they are now."

What possible interpretation was there for such words? Uncomfortably, Genma shifted, "With all due respect, Lord Hoka –"

"Shut up." The woman did not let him finish, but bit out the words so stridently that the special jounin's mouth clipped into a line. "And you," she undermined Kakashi. "You close your mouth. The abduction – if it took place – is very unfortunate. But there will not be any action taken."

The dismissive phrasing – _'If it took place'_ – seared Kakashi. His charka flared vividly in response to the furor spreading through him. He demanded, "What do you mean, you won't take any action?"

Tsunade had laced her fingers together, her chin resting grimly on their apex. A shadow loomed behind her seat like a throne. She said, "I don't expect you to appreciate the complications involved in managing Konoha's interests, Kakashi."

"_Interests_." He spat the word with all the tacky bitterness that had coated his tongue. What did that even mean? "They kidnapped a Konoha shinobi. It's an act of aggression."

"The Land of Grass is the home of several lords whose boundaries we would be penetrating if we went after them. It wouldn't be like facing one village. And that is aside from the neutrality that I would be breeching by sending shinobi into an intermediary nation. With the tensions right now between Iwa and Ame, well. We can't afford to drop our allies without sufficient reason."

Euphemism and word play. The copy-nin felt sickened by it. All he'd been holding back since he first found out about the missions that Iruka took – missions that required such tremendous risk and sacrifice – all of it rose suddenly in a boiling cascade, out of his mouth and into the open: "Just how many years of service will he have to put in before he is _sufficient_ enough?" he demanded. "How many murders at your command? How many dead children and nightmares?"

"Control yourself, Kakashi," the woman snapped, though there was an edge in her voice that seemed to speak to the fact that he had stunned her with his outburst. Deadly, she warned, "You would do well to remember that no one is so valuable they cannot be replaced, not even you."

"Chattel driver," he accused her, beyond all reason. "You would abandon him to slavery?"

Whatever consequences that loomed were made barren by a sudden commotion from the hallway – a high, almost hysterical shouting, flesh and floor, shuffling, and then the door burst open. In ranged a vivid, blue-eyed pulse, fear and fury radiant in his visage. Naruto demanded, "What's wrong with Iruka-sensei?"

Tsunade groaned, burying her head in her hands. Kakashi felt vindicated; however distressing and wholly inappropriate, the waiting game they'd been forced to play had at least creating time for him to maneuver _this_. Even so, Naruto must have all but flown here, heels to the ground, summoned by the power of Iruka's name.

But apparently the Godaime was in a frame of mind that would permit no machinations or hysterical family members, not even Naruto. And though the jagged anger that drew a line down the middle of her brow was less disturbing than the ugly disinterest it had replaced, to Kakashi it only made her seem more cold.

She passed judgment, hand coming down like a gavel: "Iruka is _not_ a victim of an unconfirmed attack. This counsel rejects the testimony of a civilian child. If he left the village, then so far as anyone knows it was of his own free will. Thus, henceforth, he is missing-nin – and low priority. And that is all that I'll hear on the matter."

"'_Missing-nin'?_" Naruto squeaked. "Tsunade –"

But the woman would hear no more, even going so far as to summon the ANBU outside to demonstrate her absolute insistence. Naruto was near a breakdown by the time the doors had been shut at their back. He begged anyone who would listen, "Tell me what's going on. Where is Iruka-sensei?"

Kakashi remained silent, his entire aspect closed over. Betrayal. It ached in his core like ice pressed over a fresh bruise. No action. Low priority, even in disgrace. A missing-nin.

"Kakashi." Naruto was looking up at him beseechingly, his expression tight with a worry that was devolving quickly into something like panic. He pleaded, "Kakashi-sensei, please. Where is he?"

The copy-nin was momentarily breeched by the unexpected sensation of water that came off of Naruto's eyes. It was like Iruka's eyes, though Naruto's caught him more like a flood than the steady sea. It forced him to reevaluate, and his vision widened so that he could see the blonde youth before him, waiting on his word.

And he thought: Ally. Iruka was Naruto's most precious person.

Kakashi caught his erstwhile student's arm. "Come with me."

* * *

Within the Hokage's chamber, Shizune wondered aloud, "Was that very wise, Tsunade-sama?"

The older woman's gaze was brooding. "A kage cannot always flash her wings over the death of a sparrow," she explained, though a tinge of regret colored her voice. "There is already enough babble disseminated about Konoha's softness. But that does not mean I cannot look the other way."

The window was open, and she could hear the faint sounds of the village as the day drew to a close - chattering voices and falling footsteps, the calls of children and animals. Her people, with all their pride and opinions. Tsunade sighed, pressing her throbbing temples. "We'll have to form a squad for damage control. This is going to be a headache when word gets out."

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka is ruthless, and an escape attempt goes very wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

For two days the Kusanin and their captive had been traveling under a canopy so thick that one could hardly tell the passage of time. Around them, the forest buzzed with nighttime insects and a sourceless wind that made the stiffening leaves click together as though there were hostile voices everywhere. It made a man like Ri-Tou, more used to open spaces and prairie grass, feel an involuntary paranoia. He couldn't keep himself from nervously checking the rafters overhead periodically as he worked to prepare their hasty meal.

They'd been in their saddles almost constantly since abandoning Konoha, long enough for even the most experienced of riders to begin to feel weary. For the little teacher, who had almost no experience with the animals, the effect had been even greater. Almost out of his wits with exhaustion, he'd sunk into a grateful slump when they called a halt, head falling listlessly.

Ri-Tou offered him water from a satchel, helping him hold it carefully to his mouth since his bound hands made him clumsy. Afterward, he whipped a trace of water from the man's chin and rumbled, "Just breathe easy. In a minute you should stretch your legs."

The teacher's dark eyes looked up at him with confusion, as though he did not understand this gruff consideration. Ri-Tou felt sorry for him. What his captain said about their village's need was true. But, he thought grimly, this was hard, taking someone from their home. With a sigh, he checked that the bonds he'd tied remained tight.

Keno was caring for the horses, checking, double-checking their tack and equipment. He didn't dare look up from the task, but tone of displeasure and anxiety in his voice was clear when he muttered, "We're going too slow."

"Once we hit open land they'll never catch us." The captain's back was a straight line as he stared off into the dense foliage. "After all, there's a reason why Kusanin ride horses, hm?"

It was more than just the pace that was bothering Keno. "Suppose we're caught and taken back to Konoha. What help will Kusagakure offer us? Because _this_," he gestured emphatically at the bound chuunin sitting in the leaf litter. "This far exceed our orders."

Shouda seemed to very carefully shield his features. The long shadows of the forest made him a study in half-inked planes, but then, he had been increasingly difficult to read ever since the night of the festival. In fact, Ri-Tou hardly recognized his leader from the man they had road with from Kusagakure. Idly, he petted the teacher's hair, hoping he was worth it.

"You don't have to be so nice to him," Keno snapped, noticing Ri-Tou's half conscious movement. "He's done nothing but drag his feet the whole way."

The bigger man withheld a sigh. His partner, too, was changing as his fear grew. "I won't treat him like an animal, even if he is a prisoner," he said finally. It made Umino-sensei look at him again with that same questioning expression and the Kusanin grinned at him. "He's not ruthless, Sensei. Just nervous," he assured, and chuckled when Keno grunted in response to the gentle teasing.

Reaching to flick a burr from his leg, he noticed the teacher still watching him. He'd been quiet in these last days of travel, but now he was speaking with his eyes, a deep, altogether foreign brown from the innumerable shades represented in his own country. Like waves, the Kusanin thought out of nowhere. Only once, Ri-Tou had seen the ocean, but he remembered how it had overwhelmed him with sadness. Umino's eyes took him back to that beach, and subconsciously he pressed his heart.

"What?" he asked those mourning eyes. "Are you so sad to leave your home?"

A sniff, a lowering of his gaze to where his tied hands lay curled together like an egg in his lap. He lifted them to offer something to the puzzled Ri-Tou, who took it without thinking. The scrap of torn navy cloth, almost certainly from the man's uniform, floated into his palm.

Whispered words filtered to his ears like an apology. Iruka said, "_I'm_ ruthless."

Adrenaline made Ri-Tou's hand clinch over the token even as alarm wrenched his arm away. He felt the sizzle: release. The last thing he ever heard as the explosion tore through him was Keno's throat-torn shriek, calling his name. His final meandering thought: _'His records…he's an expert with exploding tags.'_

* * *

Iruka fled from his captors like a rabbit released from the talons of a falcon. _'Hide me_,' he cried out fervently to the forest as he leapt into the woven green veil of laden branches, and the woods embraced him like a protector-friend.

Stoically, he tried to ignore the heat from his singed eyebrows and cheeks, the humming of his concussed ears, and the stickiness – the wet, blood-hot stickiness – that had sprayed over him with the force of the explosion. Instead of focusing on his coldblooded act of murder, he focused on footholds, the branches, on speed. He ran, even as a comrade's scream of grief and rage caught in the bark of the trees and become a part of their long, long memory, along with the sound of his wildly palpitating heart.

He knew that he could not reach Konoha. Though his distraction – costly, costly – had given him moments, they were moments only. Shouda could strike down a noosed bird in a matter of blinks, never minding the foliage curling protectively around him. _'It will have to be moments that count,'_ he thought, coaching his whirling mind into a shinobi's submission. His numb, swollen fingers worked laboriously while he whispered their meaning. The white of his charka flared.

The leaves chattered harshly – warning! But even as the noise erupted, the captain broke cover directly before him. Only the wildness of his forward momentum allowed Iruka to duck his head in time, and he fell under Shouda's arm, hands outstretched – reaching.

Bark rough beneath his skin, still felt though fingers that had been without proper circulation for far too long. Relieved, Iruka felt the charka with his jutsu leave him, absorbed easily by the tree, a tremendous, ancient hardwood. He sighed; time no longer had meaning. Calmly, he requested, _'Give them my message.'_

Then the captain seized him up with an understated kind of strength. Pressed against the trunk of a tree, Iruka fought the instinct to resist. A hot breath against the bridge of his nose, and beyond that the mask of Shouda's earth-colored face. Iruka saw it through a few untidy strands of sweaty hair before his eyes. Blank and fevered – that was how Shouda looked at him. How could an expression be both? For some reason it reeked of danger even more than the fury he'd expected to find there.

"You know, Sensei," he said. Reasonably – as though reason had anything to do with this. He positioned one large hand carefully over Iruka's knee, feeling the groves, the knobs of bone. "Teachers don't really need to walk."

An arm snapped like the sound of dry wood. A crunching finger had a sound like molars grinding a chicken bone. But hearing the splinter and grind as his knee became fragments was like the noise made by an exploding star; too big to be heard. And feeling it, _feeling it…_

It was an inarticulate pain – deeper than the body. But before any sound could bubble up out of his soul, his nerves reached a threshold and Iruka sagged, mercifully unconscious.

* * *

Next Chapter: Naruto and Kakashi must decide between duty and loyalty.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Shouda held the sagging teacher against him emotionlessly. He didn't feel vindicated by his act, but regret was equally beyond his sensibilities. _'We're going back, Sensei,'_ he spoke within his own mind. _'I don't care about what condition you might be in when you get there, or if you try to run from me. But you're going back.'_

Keno was practically senseless when he retuned to the camp, baring their prisoner over his shoulder. He had sunk to his knees by the remains of his partner, and he was hissing through his teeth, sobs and strangled rage. The bereaved man reacted wildly to the sight of Iruka, lurching to his feet with a stumbling step. "You," he made a raw sound. It was clear he planned to kill the man, but the captain reasserted control.

"He's going alive to Kusagakure, Keno."

Shock. Blind, sick fury. "He killed. He _killed_ –"

"I know," Shouda said, and something panged inside his chest. His pressed a hand there, briefly. "I know."

"He –" Keno tried to begin again, but with grief now rather than anger.

The captain shook his head. "He _is_ going back with us, if I have to amputate my own arm. If I have to pluck out my own eyes. If I have to leave behind a corpse. I forbid you to touch him, Keno, or I swear…" There was a long moment when they stood in the midst of the forest with the reek of gore and the drawn in sound of pain between them, and then Shouda ordered, "Go get your horse. They'll be no more breaks until we get to the border."

He had to wait a long time before his remaining subordinate finally broke away to do his bidding, and even then, it wasn't real submission. However, it would have to do for now.

Casting down his burden, the captain evaluated the change in their situation. Even unconscious, Iruka was leaking small noises, and though it was dangerous, Shouda put up a ward to stop the sound. The silence was unnatural, but his pain would be a beacon.

Blood was leaking freely down the teacher's bared leg, the cloth ragged from where it had been torn. _'Is that how you did it, Sensei?'_ Shouda wondered bitterly and far too late. It was difficult to make a tag out of cloth; blood and fabric were poor material. Not many could do it. Unfortunately for Ri-Tou, Iruka was obviously as proficient in this area as his file had indicated. An oversight, and his fault.

Sighing, Shouda reached to take another navy strip from what remained of Iruka's pants, murmuring, "You won't be missing this then."

Once the man's mouth was covered, Shouda released his protective jutsu. He looked to the smear nearby, the thick roasting smell of burnt meat. Another pang resounded, and he took a step toward it. That had to be taken care of.

* * *

Elsewhere, under the dark lip of Konoha's inner wall, two men huddled in a bleak, black conspiracy. Naruto had turned rigid as the story came undone, and only afterward did his rage show like static, filming over his eyes. "They took him, those bastards. And damn them for figuring out what they've stolen."

It _was_ poignant, when so many living alongside Iruka had overlooked his value. Even Kakashi had overlooked it; after all, hadn't he first fallen in with the teacher for just that reason? "They'll take him to Kusagakure and the Land of Grass. And with their head start, they're sure to hit the boarder more than a week ahead of anyone who follows."

There was a note of hopeless confusion tumbling over Naruto's question when he said, "I don't understand. Why won't Tsunade do anything?"

Kakashi no longer felt confused, but it wasn't his right to disillusion the boy about the darker truths of politics in a ninja village. "It makes no difference now; she won't change her mind." The crescents of his nails bit, leaving impressions in his gloves. "If something is going to be done, it won't be under her authority."

Though sometimes obtuse, the quality of his suggestion must have been unmistakable because Naruto's focus became instantly whetted, even wintery. He asked, "What do you mean, Kakashi?"

The copy-nin evaluated the youth before him, now nearly grown. He looked at Naruto like he would have a new recruit in his cell; no warm feelings or concessions could be afforded now. He ventured, "What do you think, Naruto?"

The nighttime seemed to swallow up his sentence, as though aware of its import. The genin said the words slowly. "I think you're going to leave."

To leave would be treason – direct disobedience. If Kakashi went after the Kusanin, he might as well carve a line into his hitai-ate now. That there could even be a loyalty he felt even more strongly than his vow to his village… But though he wondered at it, doubted and damned it, the jounin did not question it. He was going after Iruka.

Blue eyes, pale and washed out under the nighttime sky, evaluated his resolute expression. With an uncharacteristic sobriety, Naruto said, "I would never have thought this of you, Kakashi-sensei."

And Kakashi snorted, a sound that was a blend of exasperation and pain. In his mind, he heard another say – _'You've turned out to be a surprisingly diligent friend'_ – and wondered, did the boy have to keep echoing him? Dredging a grin from somewhere, he admitted, "What can I say? Your sensei is invasive. Like a fungus."

Naruto's smile was pinched but sincere. "He is. And worth fighting for."

Kakashi didn't dare imply anything from the words, not with something like this. He asked, "Do you know what you'd be giving up?"

The shaggy blond head lifted to the bloom of the sky, purple with the hour and the heath of drifting cloud. Far distant, over the haphazard cityscape of piled roofs and spires, the mountain rose - ivory limestone – glowing even now. Naruto stared at the faces, and Kakashi could imagine what he was thinking, what he was weighing. Yet when his chin lowered, he said, "Iruka is more important to me than anything else."

More than any dream, even _his_ dream. Or Kakashi's oath.

"Okay," the jounin breathed through his mask. "Then we shouldn't waste any time."

The boy opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, a barely audible voice spoke from somewhere to their left: "There you are. I was afraid that you'd be hasty and I'd miss you."

It reassured Kakashi to witness how fluidly Naruto sunk into a defensive posture, perfectly in tandem with his own reflective movement. Their hands had fallen over their weapons, through both wisely chose not to draw. For while it was embarrassing to be approached so closely without realizing, it meant that the interloper was probably no threat.

This was confirmed when the voice's owner shuffled out of cover. They blinked at the bowed form and sparse, misty white hair. The little old man straightened, faced the shinobi. "Well?" he asked. "You're going after Iruka-sensei, aren't you?"

Instant alarm. Knowing how greatly his charka would affect a civilian's undeveloped system, Kakashi reinforced his warning with a press of tangible peril. "You should be careful what you say, old man."

Hands worn by a lifetime of work bracketed boney hips as the man chastised them. "Now, none of that menace. I've known Iruka since he was underfoot; do you think you want him back any more than we do? I've come on behalf of the village to offer my help. That is, assuming you're not too arrogant to accept assistance from a source outside your class." He jabbed a finger at Naruto, "You, at least, should know better, young man."

The two shinobi stood frozen, up to their necks in utterly untested waters. "How did you know about what happened to Iruka-sensei?" Naruto asked finally.

"Boy, you live in a Hidden Village," the old man told him. "Do you think you're dealing with common, cow-eyed laborers?"

There was really no way to respond to such a statement, and so neither tried. "What he means," Kakashi said carefully, fighting to keep his voice free of the frustration and impatience that had been nettling him for hours. "Is how did you know to come here?"

Dark furrows compressed the man's brow, like a tilled field. More seriously than before, he said, "There was a meeting called this morning after Esa the carpenter spoke to you and that other shinobi. We didn't know what Lord Tsunade would do, but we felt sure that you, at least, would go, Hatake-san." And at Kakashi's questioning look, he shared, "Iruka thinks highly of you. He's spoken about you before. Nothing indiscrete, of course. But enough to get the sense that you've been a loyal friend to him."

His voice trailed away, leaving Kakashi frozen in the wake of what he had said. He had to clear his throat before asking, "You knew him well?"

"He used to steal from me during the reconstruction. And now he teaches my grandson to read," the civilian said. His hand shuffled through his robe, "Anyway, I have some information for you."

"Information."

The elder growled at the faint note of sarcasm. He warned, "Don't take that tone with me, boy. I have a son your age, and I put him over my knee just last week." Then, ignoring the way the jounin's eyebrows rose, he barreled onward, "The borders of the Land of Grass are infamous. If you try to just stride in you'll be walking into a death trap."

"Is there a point to this?" Kakashi's callous response provoked the man's ire, but it was tempered by sympathy. The jounin could see it, just beneath the sharp surface of that searching eye, and he fidgeted with discomfort at being so easily read. The man saw too much.

"I'm a merchant by trade, and I have a good relationship with a man near the lower rice fields. As it happens, the last time I was there, he mentioned he does business with a supplier in Grass. They're a closed land, dangerous to supply, but there are ways in. Backdoors. Even shinobi have to eat. I can give you his name." He pressed a letter into the jounin's hand, patting it absently before he pulled away. "He can help you reach the country without getting killed."

A narrow, unassuming scrap of paper unfolded, and Kakashi studied it with gradually widening eyes as he matched the information to what he already knew of the terrain, the people.

"It's good?" Naruto sought the answer in his face, peering up from under his bangs.

Kakashi fingered the paper reverently, with full knowledge of its value. He muttered, "Remind me to suggest higher monitoring of the civilian sector." It would have made Ibiki weep to know that intelligence like this lingered in his own village. He looked up at their supplier, knowing what he risked linking himself to their mission. Uncertain how to express the tight feeling in his chest, he waved the letter minutely. "This –"

Fortunately, Naruto possessed none of his restraint. He bowed deeply, his voice almost cracking with gratitude. "Thank you."

The man nodded. "I'm only one of a great many in this village who would do anything to help our Iruka-sensei."

Kakashi tucked the paper into the interior pocket of his vest, under the alloy plate that guarded his heart. "We should go."

But before they could, the old man caught his sleeve in a surprisingly firm grip. Taken aback, the jounin met the somber gaze. The man pleaded, "Hatake-san, please be careful. We'd like him back in once piece."

Later, as they faded under the bows of the tree, Kakashi's thoughts flew ahead to his absent friend, and he wondered, _'Are you half-civilian too, Iruka?'_

* * *

Next Chapter: The Village Hidden in the Grass.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

Iruka woke up braced against the sinewy muscle of a horse's strong neck. His hands had been retied to the pommel, and he shifted instinctively away from a pervasive but distant discomfort. It was an ill considered move, born out of the amnesia of his trancelike stupor. The motion sent a shaft of white-hot pain blazing down his leg. It liquidated his nerves and left him gagging, senselessly twisting in the saddle. But even if he could have escaped the agony by moving, the vice that constricted him from behind only tightened, giving no quarter.

"Hold still, Sensei," Shouda said, and gave his prisoner a firm shake. "Wake up, now. You're just making it worse."

Full consciousness had rarely been so cruel to Iruka. Even through his mussed senses, he could feel his knee, leaden like swollen shackle. It took all his formal training to draw steady breaths, to keep his gorge down, to fight the sunbursts pricking the back of his eyes. And though he wished for his hands so that he could erase the tacky tear trails he felt against his chin and nose, he refused to make even one muted sound.

It was pure stubbornness. He didn't want Shouda to know how badly he was hurting.

As though divining the direction of his thoughts, Shouda's arm drew tighter. The man said, "We'll be there in a week."

The topography changed as they traveled. Soon, Konoha's shield of wood gave way into grooves that were infants by comparison. Then rolling hills – countryside, farmland, and finally, finally grassland. They moved fast over the open ground. The horses never seemed to tire, and the men even less so. It transformed them; they swayed with their animals, drawn up with a glow of competent energy. Iruka watched and thought of Konoha shinobi dancing through the trees, and for the first time he was sincerely afraid. These were warriors taking him back to their stronghold, and like a mouse down a snake hole, he feared there might be no returning.

It was just after day break on the eighth day. Sore in every part, Iruka was barely upright in Ri-Tou's abandoned saddle. The blue of pre-drawn was just misting away when he was suddenly jolted, the lead attaching him to Shouda's mount dragging them to a halt.

"Look," Shouda said.

Listlessly, Iruka drew up his head. Then he stared.

The sun was just beginning to climb, casting orange over a sky so tremendous that it filled Iruka's vision to the very periphery. Cattle lowed in the distance, and grass – long as a horse's mane – filled the space between earth and eternity, swinging like a thousand pendulums whenever the wind opened up its mouth and blew. It was a myriad of sounds; insects, wings, and batting grass – a chorus in a foreign language.

'_It talks like the trees, but with so many voices…'_ Iruka thought wonderingly. A distant whinny echoed, wild and high. Iruka looked up and there – far off – he saw a carousel of wild ponies tossing their bright hair, white and black and gold. _'Shinobi on horseback,'_ he thought as he eyed the painted horses.

The lead animal among their own company shook its head, snorting, and Shouda patted its neck. "Yes," he agreed. "It's good to be home."

The endless horizon widened with the sun, blue and bald and empty. Absorbed by the immensity, Iruka didn't see the village until they were almost upon it. It was just as Shouda had described – a scattering of domes the same color as the earth, interrupted only by a few thatched huts. Amidst the moving lull of grass they were a mirage, almost invisible when viewed from a distance.

"There will be people out to see you," Shouda told the teacher as they made their final approach. His eyes were bright. "You're a windfall, Iruka-sensei."

But Keno contradicted him, spitting his own opinion. "No," the man said. "He is a lynchpin."

* * *

The Village Hidden in the Grass was once a great power among the shinobi nations. But then destruction had come, and the prairie burned down. Swiftly, Kusa had become a land of refugees and half-trained children, and enemies had hurried to exploit their vulnerability. By way of tremendous sacrifice, Kusagakure had maintained its independence, but it was always tenuous and the village had lost true stability.

Chi-fu Oyadama had been overseeing this wrangle for close to twenty years. His curling rams-wool beard was especially white against his weathered brown skin, but though the seasons bore down on his head, he still stood tall. Yet wrinkles still broke out over his forehead when he saw his men returning over the fields with an unexpected passenger slumped wearily in the third saddle. His thick brows knitted in a brushy line, and he clicked his tongue. What was this, then?

"Well, Captain Shouda," he greeted the man when they were close enough. "It appears you've brought back something of interest from your journey."

The man dismounted from his horse, his head bowed before his appointed leader. "Chi-fu. I do bring back something interesting. A gift for our people."

"A gift," the elder repeated as he watched his shinobi loose the bound stranger and haul him from the saddle.

'_Young,'_ Oyadama thought immediately. He took in the ragged clothing, the crisscross scabs latticing his arms – wirework. He was trembling like a newborn fowl when Shouda pushed him forward; his legs wouldn't bear weight and he crumbled gracelessly. The elder saw the damage immediately, considered it, and finally judged that this man had not come willingly.

"And who are you?" he wondered aloud. It wasn't a question that he expected answered, and so he was surprised when the outsider climbed laboriously to his feet. The effort must have been considerable, and yet if it he hadn't been for a certain tightness around his mouth, the leader would never have know that he was hurting. He faced the leader of the Village Hidden in the Grass, flat-eyed but still bold.

The man stated, "I've been kidnapped from my village. Let me go."

Oyadama did not respond immediately, too experienced to show his reaction. Instead, he looked to his captain.

There was a quality about the man that was oddly changed. His demeanor had always been very prominent, but before it had been tempered with good humor. He did not resemble himself now. The change in his face – so tight with defensive righteousness – made him appear almost grotesque. "He is a gift from the Hokage of Konoha, to help us rebuild our nation. He is a teacher. _The_ teacher."

This? Stunned, Oyadama looked at the one before him, swaying like a lamb as he attempted not to collapse.

There was an unhappy whinny from the tired horses, and absently the chief flicked his hand. It was as a pair came forward to lead away the animals that he realized one of the returning parties was unaccounted for. Puzzled, he asked, "Where is Ri-Tou?"

The was no inflection in Shouda's voice when he answered; in fact, his report seemed deliberately rigid: "There was an accident on the way back."

A low murmur went through the gathering of shinobi, though there was nothing so strong as grief in a land where life was so temporal. Ri-Tou had been well liked. Nor did Chi-fu Oyadama miss the droop in Keno's shoulders, the _loss_ worked deeply into the lines of his body. The chief faced his captain with a growing disquiet. He hadn't expected casualties. They'd gone as diplomats to Konoha.

Unless.

With a waking sense of horror, the leader's eyes jerked to the trembling captive. _Captive_, he thought, and his breath caught in his throat. Turning to Captain Shouda, he demanded, "What have you done?"

* * *

It was cold inside the village meeting hall, the dimly lit, earth and sod building where they had reconvened for greater privacy. It was an overwhelmingly monochromatic place – brown, in spite of a few flecks of color present in the hanging clay pottery, the thatched floor cover, and an elaborate woven tapastry hanging from one wall. Shouda watched his leader pace restlessly, while the other leading men of the village sat behind him on the ground with corresponding frowns.

Iruka had been tucked into the deepest interior of the room, bonelessly slumped. He'd been fading in and out of consciousness throughout the audience. "They're coming for me," he mumbled hazily at one point, and his voice was rough, as though he were speaking through cotton.

"Get him so water," Oyadama ordered, and then rounded fully on his captain. He repeated, "What have you done? You stole a shinobi of Konoha. You _s__tole_ him."

Stubbornly, Shouda rumbled, "You sent me there to find a legend. I found him, and he is an incredible force, unlike anything we have here."

The chief seemed doubtful. "He looks like someone I'd cast on the border to preserve more valuable material."

The dismissal was too much an echo of the Godaime's disregard, and it drew up the hair on Shouda's nape. Bristling, he insisted, "You don't understand what he's capable of. Chi-fu, this is _the_ teacher."

"And what do you think Konoha will do if that is so," his leader asked. Only the way he combed his fingers repeatedly though his curling beard give any indication of how deeply shaken he was. He chastised, "Our borders are unstable enough."

"The village has moved a dozen times since the last time a Konoha nin was here. And there are dozens of encampments and feudal Lords. It will be months before they could find us, even if they looked."

"'Even if?'" One of the council spoke up. Gesticulating in great agitation, he asked, "If he is their master sensei, then why wouldn't they look? You've brought war down on our heads!"

Shouda chaffed under their qualms, their incomprehension. Inside, ire burned hot, and he snarled feverishly. It was infuriating, intolerable. Didn't they understand what he had _done_ for them? He gestured with his hand – first towards the teacher, then wide to encompass their whole village – declaring, "I've brought our redemption!"

But he could see it in their eyes; they thought he'd gone crazy.

Oyadama turned to his other soldier. "What do you say, Keno?"

The young man was standing, arms folded rigidly across his chest as though he were trying to hold his ribs together or keep his heart in place. Lips curling, he murmured, "He killed Ri-Tou."

Shouda scowled. It was nonsense, this persistent grief. Ri-Tou had been a casualty in a larger conflict – the battle for the survival of their people_._ To the councilors, he supplicated, "Do you not remember the days when we were masters of this land? When our children played rather than fell as fuel to our endless defenses? When there where no shortages, no _scrapping_ and submission and death?" Beseechingly, he said, "I know this man does not look like much, but he makes chaff into warriors. This is the power working greatness in the new leaf warriors. This teacher, he has been _raising_ Konoha."

His impassioned words were met with a long silence. Dark rumination filled the empty spaces of the room, contemplation of all he'd brought before them – of the consequences, and the rewards. Finally there came a quiet inquiry: "Are they coming for him?"

"I can only say that we weren't immediately followed," Shouda spoke honestly.

Oyadama searched the faces of the elders, watching them nod one by one. Then he ducked his head, sighing. "We'll send compensation."

"It may work," the captain said. "Just don't send anyone very important."

Grim understanding met his retort, but there was no need to acknowledge it. Instead, the chief stated their official decision. "Then this is finished. We'll call in all those that can be spared, and tonight we'll light the fire." He gestured towards Iruka. "In the meantime, you should take him to the…to the school until dusk."

It was exactly what Shouda wanted to do. He'd already given word to round up the children, but as he went to draw his charge up from the ground, Oyadama intercepted him. A more personal question was in his creased face. He asked, "Shouda, you've considered…"

The Teeth in the dark.

Final acceptance hovered near the surface of the old man's eyes; after this, there would be no more hesitation or vacillating. For if there was any possibility that Iruka could fulfill the hope he'd long harbored, Shouda knew his chief would be willing to sacrifice almost anything. He'd been counting on it.

So he said, "I have. Of course I have."

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka meets the children of Kusa and gets burned up in fire.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

Jostled from the pleasant, floating trance he had fallen into while the shinobi council of Kusagakure decided his fate, Iruka found himself taken up by the arm and lead out into a muted village. People stared at him with far off, reserved expressions as they passed the dwelling's shaded apertures. They did not look pleased to see him. In fact, the gravity on every face was chilling. The soldier escorting him did not even meet his eyes as they moved through the dusty, unpaved streets.

Near the end of the world, where the domes meshed into space and sea, there was another building like the meeting hall – its roof thatched with grass on an earthen base, just a little taller and wider than the others. Its door was sunken partially in the ground, and Iruka stumbled when his guardian forced his head down without warning, ushering him through. Inside, teacher blinked as his body adjusted sluggishly to the drop in visibility and temperature.

It was as this transition took place that shapes emerged from the perceived gloom and Iruka's throat stoppered on a hasty, indrawn breath. Amazement clinched him.

The room was full of children.

A shuffling at the entrance signaled the arrival of Shouda, who was grasping a small boy by the arm. The young face was red and twisted with confusion, but Shouda paid him no mind. His quick black eyes still smoldered as he formally surveyed the gathering with Iruka in its center. Over his shoulder, he asked, "This is all of them?"

Another answered, "As near as we can tell."

It was only when every brown or black eye was fixed upon his closed, looming countenance that Shouda spoke. "I've brought this man to be your guardian," he began, and he gestured toward Iruka as though he'd forgotten the child he still clasped. The chuunin saw the little boy wince and a pain pricked his chest; those fingers would leave bruises.

Shouda continued, "He's come all the way from Konoha, and he's going to take care of you."

Around the room, the faces ranged from blank incomprehension to dubious hostility. There were no smiles, and the captain looked nearly as grim. Iruka saw the frustration building behind his eyes and realized he was angry they were not more glad, that they did not comprehend what he was attempting. But how could they?

Looking around at the thin faces, many grubby and completely lost to the significance of what was being done to them, the pinprick pain grew, forming an ache. Iruka looked down at the nearest child, a girl of about six who was clutching a straw-and-canvas doll under her chin. She stared fixedly at him, but with no understanding.

And Iruka thought, _'Whatever else he may have lied about, he didn't exaggerate their need.'_

When he raised his chin, Shouda's snapping black eyes were on him. He said, "Their mothers and fathers are dead to the maw of this country's borders. Or to clan murder, or sickness, or starvation. And they are left."

"So many…" Iruka muttered without meaning to.

A flicker, and a little of the crag that had turned the captain's face to stone shifted into softer lines. "Yes," he said, a vein of something like relief seeping into his voice. As if he could sustain himself if only one person understood.

He turned to the door, releasing the child he had been holding as he went. "They're yours now, Sensei," he said by way of farewell. A warning lingered after him: "And remember, you aren't allowed beyond the yard without an escort."

He was a shadow over the door as he departed, and then Iruka was left with the dust floating in the strong yellow light and nearly two dozen sets of raw eyes standing barefoot, mute as birds taught not to cry for fear of what lurked in the grass. A helplessness he was not used to feeling around children affected him; he understood their lack of agency profoundly. He had no power here either.

Finally, his eyes drifted to the little boy Shouda had 'escorted' in, now swaying slightly with his eyes creased tight. He was holding onto his arm like a broken wing, and Iruka went to him. With difficulty, he folded himself on the ground, his injured leg propped before him, and then he drew the toddler onto his lap so that he could rub soothing circles against his back.

"What a bully." He made his voice low, almost a croon, so that the children had to shift closer to overhear. The tiny boy had tensed with fear, but the fretfulness receded as Iruka kept up his rhythm, and when the teacher finally tugged at his injured arm, he tearfully presented it. Iruka felt carefully, regretful when he saw evidence of what would soon darken into tattooed fingerprints.

Another heaved sigh, and he drew the curly head further under his chin, rocking. "You'll be alright," he promised. He didn't know what would happen to any of them, including himself, but he promised anyway. "You'll be alright."

It should have upset him knowing that Shouda had been counting on him to react this way, but it was impossible to sustain any anger as he looked around the mosaic of faces, a study in sepia. He stroked a cheek even darker than his own when another child ventured closer, dropping softly-spoken words like caresses. They pressed in, timidly at first, and then with growing eagerness to be near him.

The littlest ones were the boldest. They looked at him without blinking, drinking him up. A timid tug on his ponytail caused a fearful withdraw when he turned his head, but then he smiled and ruffled a tousled head. It provoked a hiccupping, uncertain giggle that was quickly swallowed. '_Oh, babies_,' Iruka thought sadly, feeling their painful uncertainty like a wound in his own body. It brought back such dark memories.

Hoping to ease them, he introduced himself. "I'm Iruka."

The little boy in his lap pressed his fingers against the teacher's cheeks, over his scar. The round, dark eyes were the most conflicted that Iruka had ever seen, far-too-grown-up and yet filled with the most instinctual, newborn neediness. _ 'Will you take care of me?' _he was asking.

It was what they all wanted to know. He could see it in every face.

* * *

That night Iruka experienced his christening, a ritual of destruction and renewal in equal parts. He'd been stripped, his wounds tended, and then ushered through the dark towards the center of the village. There a tremendous blaze had been induced to burn, shedding shadows in long, wavering stripes. Every article of his old clothing had been carefully bundled, and while the conflagration burned high, they were the first to be placed within. The material crackled, flared, and disappeared – he watched the flame lick his vest pockets until shredded whips of paper went up like red snowflakes.

The bonfire filled the night sky with ember fairies, and the drifting ash stung Iruka's eyes with the smell of incense. All while, around the circle, an incredible number of thin faces peered, most entirely devoid of pleasure, with war-worn eyes.

There were words, brief and ritualistic. Then they bent his hitai-ate before his eyes and it too went up in flames. Stricken, he watched its navy bands flutter until they were burnt into a curl of orange and ash. Then the people moved in an incredibly wild and solemn pattern. The forms flashed ephemeral before Iruka's stinging eyes, before the flames. They danced. And Iruka watched, while his old life given up to the prairie's most natural enemy and god – Fire.

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka gets to know the Kusa children.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

* * *

Morning.

Iruka watched it arrive through the sole window of his new dwelling, his face pointed towards the rising sun. It was beautiful, but it spite of the panorama before him, his mind lingered elsewhere.

After the disorienting ceremony, he'd been returned to the 'school', which, like the council chamber, was thatched with heavy bunches of dried grass. It gave the structure a pleasant smell, but he could see the chaff drifting in the wash from the passage outside and it made Iruka's eyes itch.

There was no door, but before it was an even more effective barrier – a warrior-guard, standing stiff and straight with an unusually long-bladed weapon slung across his back. The odd half-masks of the Kusanin elite made him seem formidably emotionless. Iruka grimaced, wondering if he should be flattered to have been assigned what was likely an ANBU equivalent.

Sighing, he tugged absently at his neck. He hadn't gotten used to the pull of the fabric yet. The pants, though not his own and a little large, where not so different from his old uniform, but the loose cotton shirt felt strange hanging against his collar, and he felt uncomfortably light and open without the armored vest he had worn for half his life. But last night they'd taken everything, even his sandals. Clearly, they wanted no mark of Konoha on him.

His knee chose that moment to give an unmerciful lurch. Leaning heavily against the casement, Iruka panted, struggling to master his hurt. His injury was incredibly painful, but at least the leaves he'd been given to chew had numbed the worst of the agony. He could function. Though, left unhealed like this, it was anyone's guess whether he would ever regain full use of it. Certainly it complicated any plan he might have for escape.

Not that things weren't complicated enough as it was.

Behind him, a muffled serenade of breaths filled the space; the sleepy sounds of nearly two dozen children. He reminded himself, _'This is no camp of half-trained ninja. These aren't merchants, slavers, or even missing-nin. It is a Hidden Village.'_ Half-moon nails dug deep into the flesh of his palms. _'Would you even try to slit the throats of an entire population?'_

And what about these little ones?

No, he would have to wait. Someone would be coming – Kakashi. Kakashi would come. Until then, he would be a sheep, just as he had been trained to be. He would drag his leg a little more than necessary and check his temper. And in the meantime…

There was an empty pit at the bottom of Iruka's stomach, and for the first time in days he felt as though he might keep something down. Moreover, his wasn't the only mouth to feed. The children were just beginning to stir, ruffled heads rising while hands rubbed sleepy faces. He nodded decidedly.

Turning to the guard, Iruka rapped out, "Good morning to you. Do you know when breakfast is coming?"

No movement answered, not even a twitch to show that he'd heard.

Iruka rolled his shoulders, unfazed. He had experience dealing with bothersome high-ranking shinobi. "Are you mute? Well, fine. I always thought jounin were insufferably overbearing anyway –" A forceful sneeze interrupted him and the teacher drew a congested breath. Miserably, he muttered, "I think I'm allergic to grass."

It was possible that a quirk of amusement twitched just at the edge of the ANBU's visible mouth, but it was hard to say.

Meanwhile, Iruka braced his hands on his hips in his best teacher-pose. "Well?" he demanded. "Do you expect me to feed them straw?"

There was an uncertain moment in which something or nothing might have happened, but then, mercifully, the ANBU shifted toward the door and whistled – a reed-song. In an instant, another nin materialized; there were brief, unheard words. Then the newcomer turned and addressed Iruka.

"One moment, Sensei."

* * *

Though he had no intention of teaching school, Iruka inevitably fell into old patterns when he was around children. They'd warmed to him quickly in the full light of day, alternately cowering and clinging like neglected animals. Their fear and neediness was hard for Iruka to bear; it raked against every sensitivity he possessed, and he found it impossible to keep them at a distance. Which was how he found himself with a tiny girl settled between his knees sucking on her thumb, watching while he scratched symbols in the dirt.

Learning forward, he marked the final stroke. "This means 'grass'," he told the crowd of attentive youngsters. "When I teach my students about your village, I use this to write your name."

The eagerness of starved learners never ceased to amaze. Of their own volition, the older children traced their own versions; erased, tried again. They called out to their neighbors – "_look, look"_ – or else just stared, awestruck by their own accomplishment. The teacher in Iruka had to stifle a grin.

A number of words tumbled out in succession: "Horse. Rice. Sun."

Giggles of pleasure met each one, until the teacher smoothed the ground and wrote, "Tree." This time there was no chorus of repetition, no fingers niggling in the dust with mimicry. He lifted his eyes.

Puzzled, one of the older children asked, "What's a tree?"

Iruka was sure that his eyes stretched, boggled by their incomprehension. But then, he thought, where would they have seen a tree? He looked over his shoulder to where the outside framed the window. An endless expanse. Konoha would seem like a fantasy world to these children.

He decided not to try and explain. "Never mind. Let's try – 'day' and 'night'."

The activity carried on for half the morning, until finally Iruka's voice grew so raspy and cracked from inhaling the dust that he could barely speak. Brushing tears from his eyes, he shooed the children toward the door. "Out. We could all use some fresh air."

Bizarrely, not all of the children were eager to end the lesson. One particularly resistant toddler held onto Iruka unrelentingly, his grip only tightening when Iruka coaxed him to let go. "What's wrong?" the man wondered, bewildered; never in his career had he known an unwelcome recess. "Don't you want to go outside and play?"

A determined shake of the head. No.

Iruka puzzled over such dogged resistance. It was out of his experience, though he'd worked with children like these before – the parentless, abandoned, or left behind. He said 'left behind,' because it seemed that even the surviving shinobi parents of Grass had no time for their small children. So far as he could tell, nearly half of his charges had at least one parent, though they were rarely together. Almost constantly, the adults were out of the village, leaving their little ones with no assurance that they would ever –

Oh. It occurred to Iruka suddenly. He petted the small cheek, wishing that he could smooth away the _doubt_ he now recognized. "Ah, I'll be right here. Go on. You have my word."

After that, Iruka was left alone just outside the threshold. A tendril of dried straw dangled before his face, and the teacher brushed it away. Gloomily, he rubbed his nose – Itchy. He _would_ find himself unsuitable for life in a captive land. Kakashi, of course, would have found it hysterically funny…

Before that thought that a chance to turn brooding, a piping voice hailed: "Hey."

Turning, Iruka found a young man waiting on his attention. The boy glared up at him out of a bloody face, split lipped and determined. A fighter, Iruka judged. Someone with a voice. And someone his instinct told him not to coddle. He asked, "Did you have something to say to me?"

The dark, dark eyes narrowed further, lashes fluttering, and in that moment, masked as he was with contempt and reservation – so determined to look tough – the young man reminded Iruka painfully of Konohamaru. He grunted, "I'm Ryo-ki. I'm eleven, and I'm the oldest one left."

It was a protective declaration if the teacher had ever heard one, and he was impressed by the boy's bravery. Though it also made him sad. Iruka poignantly remembered those desperate days as a little-boy guardian. It was too much, no matter how much one gave. And it was a role destined to be burdened with regret.

By way of conversation, the teacher asked, "Can you see out of that eye at all?"

The boy – Ryo-ki – was looking at Iruka out of an enormous set of chocolate eyes that he hadn't grown into yet – very lovely, except the left was wandering slightly independently from its cohort. The defect looked congenital, lazy.

"No," the young man answered, and then he snarled, "But that won't stop them from taking me when there's no one better to fill my place."

The tone of bitterness was striking in one so young. Combined with the bleak reality the statement itself, it depressed Iruka's heart. He shook his head. "You're far too young for dying."

Ryo-ki snapped, "No one's too young for dying."

Iruka could only concede. Weary, he put his back to the wall and slid down heavily. It put the youth's eyes above his, but to his surprise, the boy dropped beside him in a crouch. They looked at one another – the teacher neutral, the boy uncertain and even suspicious. Iruka let himself be measured out.

"You don't look like the others," Ryo-ki muttered finally into his knees. "You'd get killed in one night."

The direction of their conversation left Iruka nonplussed. As did the tone the boy used; it held disappointment, and maybe even a premature, yet wholly matter-of-fact grief. Curious, Iruka wondered, 'You think so?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah. You're face is too soft. Like hemlock lace."

Iruka smiled at the comparison. "Hemlock is poisonous," he pointed out, pleased when the child reacted as he hoped – with attention, and with surprise. He went on, "If a predator were to gnash it to pieces in his teeth, he would get sick and die."

"But the flower still gets torn to pieces." There was a whole short lifetime of hard realities behind his statement, and Iruka felt another twinge for Konohamaru. How could children so far removed from one another be so alike? At least, Iruka was glad to be able to give a better answer this time.

"What you say is true. But that's why plants have roots. It'll grow back, given time." And seeing the young man's widened eyes, he added gently, "Not everything that's strong has teeth, Ryo-ki."

"You're going to stay here." It was anyone's guess whether it was a realization or a question. Or what the boy thought of it, since his frown was still so deep.

The teacher gave his response serious consideration, sensing how important it might ultimately be. Finally, he explained, "Shinobi owe loyalty to their village, and if they are alive, it is their duty to return there." He finished, "And I am Konoha."

Whatever it was the boy had come to solicit, this was not it. In a showy flare of anger, he snapped upright and stomped off to join the others. Iruka watched him go, vaguely bothered by the sick feeling that he had just badly disappointed someone seeking rescue. And wishing that truth had less of a sting.

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka makes an escape attempt, and Kakashi finds the message left in the tree.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

Night, and near privacy, the children tucked around each other on the ground. No light broke the pattern. Only the window, that little solstice. A lone figure highlighted it in what was becoming a usual vigil. Hunched, tonight. Bowed and hurting, while blue night bled through the window and hung over where he bent, fighting not to grip bone.

Gnashing – if Iruka had never fully understood what it meant before, then the sensation was intimate to him now.

He clinched his thigh hard enough to bruise. A trembling grip; and he swallowed hard on a laugh-cry. Breathe, he coached himself. _Beathe._

Pressing his lips between his teeth, he tried to draw himself together. During the day, defiance and the children kept him occupied, but nighttime brought down those shields; then, rather than distracting him, the pain would play like a highlighter marking over his growing desperation and doubt, and it was harder to concentrate on his better judgment.

Wait, he told himself, relentlessly. Wait. But not matter how reasonable, how prudent that sounded, the starless navy sky pressed down and the walls shrunk and all he could feel was a growing incoherency. Ramen and – and sky-blotting trees. Homesickness and grief like he'd never felt. _'I am Konoha' _– the words he had spoken swelled in his mind until they were all he could hear.

Wretchedly, he hung his head over his shattered limb and panted with a growing desperation.

* * *

Desperation drove men to do foolish things.

Iruka could barely keep upright; his leg was so weak that it shook when he stood for even a few minutes. Watery reflexes slowed him down, and the steady, gnawing torment made his vision fog. And even beyond these limitations of the body, there was the fact that he was in a wholly alien land.

It did not matter. _Escape_ had gotten under his skin like a splinter.

It was moonless, starless. A deep, dark black had swept up the prairie, swallowing its coven of domed houses. A heavy wind masked even the most staggering steps with hissing grass, and distant thunder growled, harbinger of bad weather. Iruka inhaled deeply, ignoring the hint of ozone.

Laboriously, he worked around the periphery of the village, near the outskirt where a low wall wound like a boxy serpent of grown up bramble. His head, when it lifted from his leaden track, was pointed toward the east. Finally, he could see the open ground – the outside – and he panted over a thrill of triumph and longing.

Desperation drove men to do foolish things.

When an owl weaves its deadly path over a field of prey, it does so on wings crafted by nature to utter silence. A hush and a fall, and then a shriek of dying – that is how this midnight predator hunts. Iruka had exactly that much warning before he was snatched from behind. With a sickening lurch, his feet lost all purchase. Then, though he scrabbled desperately, wrenching and clawing, the arms around him held on as tight as talons.

Iruka didn't know when he realized he was crying. Hot, ugly streaks burned across his face, until, finally, he couldn't fight anymore. He sagged, head shaking. Still so weak, even in this place so far from home…

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of ivory and knew it was his gargoyle, the ANBU guard, and it was a tribute to Iruka's misery that when the arms drew more tightly around him, it felt like an embrace. Wordlessly, the man set his captive carefully back on his feet. Then he led Iruka back to the school compound, a thumb curled around his neck. Supporting him when he stumbled.

* * *

The forest surrounding Konoha was incomprehensibly immense. It was both a playground and a snaggle; a labyrinth that could be either whimsical or malevolent – even to its own. And without knowing which way the Kusanin had departed, finding their trail had been more difficult than expected.

If it hadn't been for the horses, it was possible they might not have found any traces at all, but though the escaping shinobi had been meticulous, not even the most dedicated fastidiousness could cover all evidence of such big animals. Even so, it had taken them days to come so far, traveling slow and vaguely west. And Naruto's fear grew with every sunrise.

It was hard for the young man to bare such painstaking progress; in the beginning, he had wanted to speed up and head directly for the border, but Kakashi had explained that Iruka was almost certainly deep within Grass country already, if he had indeed gotten that far.

_If._

It was just as possible that they had turned aside, mislaying their trail to avoid pursuit. "He's just crazy enough to head straight for home, but we need to be sure," the copy-nin had explained. That was four days ago, and since then all progress had been almost completely frustrated.

With a sigh, Naruto paused, rubbing the corners of his eyes to sooth the faint throb of exhaustion. Kakashi was a relentless leader; doggedly one-minded with almost superhuman endurance. And while he had known his old teacher as a warrior – _this_ was something else altogether.

'_I think he'll find you, Sensei,'_ Naruto directed his thoughts outward. He could see his teacher's eyes roll in response, could hear him huffing his best 'what-a-stalker' sigh. It was such a vivid image that it made the genin's vision blur, and he reached out to steady himself against the nearest tree trunk – a thick and aged oak.

A low throb surged unexpectedly at the point of contact, and Naruto gasped. He knew that charka. It was the same presence that had guided his first leap through the trees, that had once lulled him to sleep. The feel of it was as familiar as its owner's face. He took a breath and bellowed, "Kakashi!"

The copy-nin came, mumbling something about stealth, but once he'd been persuaded to press his hand against the tree, his face went as blank as unused parchment. "Iruka," he said.

Naruto felt a flare of hope, affirmed in his belief. "He's okay. They haven't killed him."

There had been a distant possibility that the Kusanin had carried the teacher off just to murder him, but if Iruka had made it this far, it was almost certain that he would survive the journey. The very idea made Naruto feel as though he could breathe again.

However, Kakashi was frowning, his gaze roving carefully over the area as though seeking other clues. His nostrils flared. "Something smells like burning."

Naruto sniffed, picking through the familiar mixed aroma of wood and decaying plant matter, of dirt and pine and… "I smell it too," he confirmed, and dropped to the forest floor. As expected, the faint, smoky scent was even stronger near the ground.

Kakashi joined him, dropping into a crouch and releasing Pakkun. Mission-focused, the nindog did not offer even the mildest of oaths before testing the air. They followed him cautiously into a break were a fallen tree had created a niche of undergrowth open to the sky. The two shinobi exchanged looks. It would be an ideal place to rest tired men and animals.

Pakkun signaled then, nose to the ground at the other side of the clearing. Kakashi and Naruto went to him instantly, but what they found stopped them stiff, stricken. There, disfiguring the groundcover, was an irregular oval of depressed grass, marked by a ring of scorched ground. Something indefinable made a heap in its center, grotesquely mashed.

"It isn't Sensei," Naruto insisted, but he didn't stoop to examine it closer. His head rocked back and forth. "No, you felt the charka marker in the tree. It isn't him."

Pakkun pawed at the disturbed ground gingerly. "It's days old. I can't tell."

The jounin crouched, sifting the blackened residue. It was a rushed job; however indistinguishable, such remains should have been buried. He leaned in closer, fingers playing over a stubborn snag of waxy, matted fabric. He rubbed the edges with his fingers. It had burned, not melted. He announced, "A tag killed this man."

Naruto's blue eyes rekindled. "Then…"

"Iruka, you bastard. You killed one of them," Kakashi muttered, sitting back on his haunches. Ignoring his heart beating hard against the inside of his ribs, he looked around the aperture, which showed no other sign of disturbance. His brow bent, "And yet they still took him."

"That captain," Naruto wagered, fretful once more. "You said he was crazy."

A sparse nod, troubled. Kakashi clarified, "I said he was desperate, and desperation makes men do foolish things."

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka recovers from his escape attempt and has tea with his ANBU guard.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

A few days had passed since Iruka's attempt to leave the village, and since then he had settled into a much less unstable frame of mind. In the full light of day, his decision to leave seemed like hysterical folly; he had stumbled off into the dark, unequipped and without a plan. Ibiki would have thrown a fit if he had known, ranting about remedial training. The very prospect made Iruka wince with chagrin.

However, that time had passed, and now he was resigned to his position in Kusagakure. Opportunities would come, as they always did, but until he was well enough to take advantage of them, his place was among enemies.

Or something like enemies.

Iruka had lost some of his conviction that all of the Kusanin wished him harm. In its place rose a growing curiosity about the lanky ANBU guard who had both thwarted his folly and shepherded him gently back without even a word passing between them. Moreover, since he had not been censured for his escape attempt, he assumed it had not been reported. Compassion from a stranger. In retrospect, it meant more to Iruka than he would have imagined.

Uncertainly, he evaluated the man with his odd sword, standing sentry by the door as always. He did not seem to look at Iruka, though the porcelain half-mask effectively shrouded his eyes. They were blank, absent holes – wholly inhuman. Yet his hands had told a different story. In the relative quiet of this different evening, Iruka found it easier to go back to that night. His naked defenselessness still made him flush with embarrassment, but there was also the memory of the ANBU's unexpected gentleness – of the grip that had felt like being held.

He looked over at the guard.

"Would you sit down with me and have tea?" His mouth spoke without his accord, but as soon as the words finished reverberating, he felt they were right. He was lonely, and even if this man was his jailer, he had been kind. Iruka suddenly longed to know his name.

A fragment of barely noticeable hesitation followed. The masked eyes stayed fixed on the door.

Iruka swore to him, "Please, you have my word that I won't try to escape tonight."

For the moment, neither moved, as still as breathing statues of plaster. Iruka wondered if the ANBU soldier was silently scoffing at such a thing as his _word, _but then, seemingly without cause, the rigor broke. Crossing the room with a long-legged grace, the man folded himself before Iruka, accepting the bowl passed into his hands. He nodded – _thank you_ – and then they drank in an uncomplicated, companionable silence.

Iruka spoke first, "Your weapon – I've never seen one quite like it."

It was a well chosen topic, for while there was no visible shift of expression, the nin drew his blade smoothly from its casing and presented it with pride across the flat of his hand. Long and broad, bladed along both edges, it was nothing like the wickedly curved, yet elegant katana that Konoha elite were known to use.

Iruka admired it with the eye of one who taught weapon usage and care. The good steel would be heavy and was very dark, but it glowed opaquely with diligent care and was honed smooth with frequent use. "It's a cavalry weapon," he commented when he was sure, thinking of the graceful horses he'd seen milling and tossing their heads.

A low, pleasant sound echoed from the Kusanin, like the very first note of a laugh. "It's very good for cutting down escaping Konoha shinobi too," the man told him, and Iruka couldn't stop himself from grinning. ANBU-san had a honey voice; warm, rumbling, and very human.

He looked into the blank eyes with frank appreciation. "It's my great pleasure to meet you," he said. "I'm Umino Iruka."

A pause. Then the shaggy head bowed. "I'm Tan-li."

* * *

There were no blankets available for Iruka or his students, just thin woven mats to soften the dirt floor. Yet the nights were warm at this time of the year, and anyway the children curled up close – to each other and to him. Even now, he could feel one pressed up against the warm curve of his back while he hummed to a little girl who would not drift to sleep.

"Sensei?"

Iruka fussed with the canvas doll, bobbing it in the air a few times before handing it back into its owner's eager arms. He doubted that he would ever know true fatherhood, but in spite of the fact that – in so many ways – these little ones were not his own, he could sometimes imagine what it might feel like. "Hm?"

Round dark eyes chastened him. The single lantern had not yet been doused, and in the reflected light, her sooty eyelashes fluttered like black butterflies over a sea of calligraphy ink. Drawing the rough fabric of her toy up under her chin, she said, "Ryo-ki told on you. He said you won't stay here."

Iruka frowned, drawing back under the unexpected sting of her accusation. He drifted with the small-hour sounds – the cry of crickets, the stir of the thatch above their heads. It was this problem of leaving again, their loss and his. To borrow time, he propped himself against his elbow while this little girl _looked_ at him. Finally, he asked her, "Why do you think I would want to go?"

Her lower lip trembled. "Grownups leave," she said. A statement, simple truth.

No appeals to logic or duty could last against that kind of infant sorrow. It unseated all of Iruka's potential answers, so that all he could do was not offer a lie. "I don't know what will happen, darling," he told her, and reached out with the hem of his sleeve to cover her nose. Smiling fondly, he commanded, "Blow."

A snotty snuffle answered his request, and then she wiggled closer. "Staaay," the word drew out, and she dug her face into his forearm. Iruka sighed.

He whispered, "I can't make promises to any of you. I wish that I could take care of you forever, but forever is very, very long." There was only so much he could offer, but there were some things. "I don't know how long I'll be here, but as long as I _am_, I'll teach you what I can and we'll stay together."

He lay down his head against the crook of his arm, his free hand still captured in a grip that had not loosed. It was as though by holding on she – and they; the hand tangled in the back of his shirt, the nose against his belly – could bind him here.

Chin tilted back, he murmured, "You can put the light out now, Tan."

It twinkled and dimmed, falling to darkness. Then the square of the window was the only light. Iruka looked toward it as though for reassurance…and there he saw two eyes. Slowly, he blinked. But, no, there was nothing there now. Odd, Iruka thought. He was sure he had seen a face, framed by the sky. An errant thought nibbled at the edge of his sleepy mind.

Well.

* * *

Walking down the main street of Kusagakure took Iruka back in time. Once, he had been dragged by the hand by a small blond moppet, and he recalled the heaviness of the disapproval they had often met with in those long ago times – the stares and the incongruous feeling of isolation, of being separate. He was revisiting those feelings now.

But perhaps it was some flaw in the village itself. There was a hostility in the atmosphere that one could tangibly feel; a bleakness that seemed to cast all the brown faces in the color grey. The presence of Tan-li, the ANBU guard, only clouded their reception further, and uncomfortable, Iruka tugged, drawing his charges along.

Too soon, he was forced to stop. He felt ponderous with his limp, and the sense of stark visibility it lent him rattled every shinobi instinct he had honed since childhood. Perhaps it would have been better to say at the school compound, but a growing need to know the layout of his surroundings had driven him out. He'd challenged the younger children to count the houses, the older ones to play scout. He'd quiz them all later, and in the meantime it allowed him the time to memorize the turns and alleyways, the shadowed corridors, and the distant walls.

A murmur drew this attention back to the main road, and he looked up in time to see a procession just now reaching the village. His eyes narrowed. Two men approached in shinobi gear, and they were carrying something between them. He was certain, for a moment, that they were sacks of rice or some other heavy grain, but then the smell hit him.

The wind carried the reek of death all too well.

The children crowded his knees as the macabre pageant drew nearer. Two bodies lay slung over one another, limbs spayed and faces slack, staring sightless. Those who carried them hitched their grisly cargo higher, taking better grip on the stiff appendages. Their expressions were bored.

Ryo-ki had drifted into the shadow of Iurka's elbow, near enough that their sides were pressed together. The teacher felt a tremor go through the boy, though his voice was affectedly tough when he said, "They brought my father in like that."

Iruka's stomach hollowed; it had been fifteen years since he had been so affected by such disregard for human life. What made it worse was that this wasn't grim necessity; it was habitual. And he had rarely seen anything made so evil through negligence.

Had conditions here really deteriorated so greatly that casualties had to be trundled through the streets, haphazardly piled and absent of honor? Iruka knew only the most basic details about the hostile death trap that had become the Iwa-Kusa-Ame boarder, but Ibiki had once described it like a deluge pressing against a flood wall. The water surged and ventured, testing for, developing weak points.

'_Suppose the wall holds,' _Iruka had ventured at that time, but the interrogator had only shaken his head.

'_There is a reason I used the example of a flood – you can get out of its way, you can fight it or block it. But water isn't something you can put off forever. Eventually, it will break through.' _

Casting his eyes around the watching villagers, Iruka saw evidence of this impending break. Insensibility ranged wide; some had not even looked up from their work. _This_ was the village's sickness, he decided. It was filled with men and women who had grown callus of death. So much so that the living had stopped being precious.

"You see it, don't you, Sensei."

The voice electrified Iruka, sent his pulse hammering throughout his whole body. Shouda's broad shadow loomed, pressing close before he could whirl to face the man. The words were pitched low, as though they were conspirators caught in the same secret knowledge. His usually sharp eyes were murky. "You see how broken it is."

Yes, Iruka saw. But he did not understand even now what cure this man thought he possessed. "I can't _save_ your people, Shouda," he whispered. "That's not something one person does."

The captain's visage was grim. He leaned forward, hissing tersely into the teacher's ear, "Try."

* * *

Next Chapter: Kakashi and Naruto creep closer to Kusa, and Iruka confronts the chief of his enemies.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

No matter how determined, there was a threshold past which even the most rigorously conditioned shinobi could not go. And Naruto, though spiritually dedicated, was still young and inexperienced. When his footholds had finally begun to stagger, Kakashi had called a reluctant halt. His own muscles prickled, stretched and tingling, and he was forced to admit that they both needed rest.

And so they settled into a subdued camp. Lost unto himself, Kakashi closed his eyes and focused on the task of regenerating his strength. With an effort, he cleared his mind of any other concern, drifting…

"Do you think he's alright?"

The worried inflection snapped the jounin's concentration in half, and he pursed his lips beneath his mask. Alright? He didn't know, and he didn't want to think about it. Yet for Iruka's sake, he scraped up some sort of an answer; "I've seen him survive things…others wouldn't."

"You – you think they've hurt him."

Kakashi's chin was tucked, pillowed against his vest. Around him, the forest was so shrouded in shades of green it was almost blue, and as he stared between the bows, he imaged what he would have done if he had been in the Kusanin's place. After all, Iruka had killed their comrade.

Mercifully, Naruto's thoughts turned without requiring an answer. Instead, he wondered aloud, "What do you think he's doing right now?"

So childlike. The older nin still marveled that the vessel of a demon-beast could even manage such a tone, but then he thought of all the time he'd passed wondering over Iruka's pervasive gentleness, his capacity to care in spite of what he did in the dark. They really were much alike, Naruto and Iruka; a clan of two.

This latest question was less bleak, and so Kakashi considered it. "Iruka is resourceful," he answered finally, surveying the far off stars. They twinkled coldly. "Who knows. Maybe by the time we get there, he'll have started a revolution."

* * *

Iruka refused to teach his new charges anything about being a shinobi. He would not train them, not even so much as how to position their hands around a shuriken. "I only know forms from Konoha," he told the children when they asked him. "But there are other things you need to know more."

And so they learned to read with squiggles on the ground. Many of the children had never seen a scroll or a book; to them, writing was something one did in the field for the most basic seals. But that wasn't the kind of writing that Iruka taught. It was something different altogether, and not all of the children understood why it was important. Foremost among these was Ryo-ki.

During one of these lessons, he sat fidgeting and broiling, until finally he could stand it no longer and exploded, "Knowing these letters won't help us kill anyone. It won't keep us from dying when we're attacked!"

Solemn eyes waited on Iruka's response to this outburst. For though they had left it to their eldest to voice this doubt, his question was one they all shared: _'Does what you're teaching matter?'_ It was called a crisis of faith – a moment when students felt their first qualm over their teacher's ability. Handled poorly, mistrust could germinate and wreak a class. Especially for a class of shinobi, where a teacher represented the end goal – the warrior they were expected to emulate.

In the eight years Iruka had been teaching, he had known many such challenges, and so he responded with the full force of his experience: "_I passed by chalky bodies blue_," he began, "_their ribs above the ground_.

"_So slick and black and fallow laid the land, so burned and brown._

_Destruction reeked and ruin wooed by pride and senseless war,_

_While a hundred crying widows wail; starving, shamed, and poor._

_Everything lost: Victory's cost, and no one left for the babies;_

_While still the beast of violence looms – and_ _slavers_ – _ever hungry_."

A hush of amazement trailed this ending, a dozen drooping chins. Satisfied they took his meaning, Iruka gazed directly at Rou-ki, who was looking pole axed. Quietly, he told the boy, "Sometimes words can stop wars from happening. Sometimes words can protect better than metal."

* * *

Every day there were new challenges. The "school" – if it could really be called that, devoid as it was of resources for life or learning – served them well enough as a shelter, but children needed more than a roof. Hunger was a persistent problem. Iruka had no money, and he was tired of issuing his plea for provision. It nettled him that he had to remind them at all, day after day. What did they expect him to do? Sustain them on miracles?

Unfortunately, his legend was inadequate for the task, whatever Shouda had told them.

The children never asked him for food, possibly because experience had taught them not to expect it. He knew that they scavenged when they weren't with him, but even so, it wasn't enough. His ragtag group was a mass of thin, brittle hair and skinny limbs. Children couldn't learn if they were restless with hunger. He knew his own stomach was hollow more often than not.

Rubbing the crown of his head, Iruka considered the problem. Until, finally, stiff with his decision, he approached Tan-li. "I'm going to need you to take me to see Chi-fu Oyadama," he requested, steeling himself for opposition.

It did not come. For while the jounin's lips did pursed with uncertainty, something in Iruka's demeanor must have convinced him of how serious the teacher was, because he finally nodded.

* * *

The chief of Kusagakure paced across the hall, pulling knobby fingers though his coarse, woolen beard. Two sets of eyes followed his movement; the teacher and his guard. No one else was present, and the elder was glad. It gave him the freedom to study this perplexing _other_, to try and discern what it was that made him so different.

He thought perhaps it was his eyes; in all the browns of his village, he knew of none that were quite that color. Moreover, they were underlined twice, once by a scar and second by the firm, straight line of his mouth. Certainly there were few that dared to face him like that. And it _was_ bold that he had dared to ask – no, _demand_ – an audience. Yet here he was, begging for food for the young people of his enemy. Oyadama did not understand him.

Straightening, the chief twined his hands at the curve of his back. He determined to test this teacher's resolve, and so he asserted bluntly, "This is not a welfare state. Those children are your responsibility."

He could see the shiver of irritation inspired by his words, but still the teacher's first appeal was to logic: "Students cannot learn when they are starving. You've given me two dozen. How can I feed them?"

"You managed in Konoha," Oyadama scoffed.

"I fed them with my own money, but I was able take missions there. And I received a salary for teaching," the teacher said, his words pointed.

It was somewhat impressive; so far his answers had been cool and measured, but the chief could see the fine cracks in his composure. Temperamental, this one. Oyadama was curious how far he might be pushed before his control would break. He applied experimental pressure; stepping closer, he announced with finality, "Here, people take care of their own needs."

That was all it took. Like a boiling kettle of water, Umino gushed, "I cannot make rice from dirt on the ground!"

The chief stuck him then, throwing back his head. The vicious blow split the man's lip, and so it was with bloody teeth that the teacher returned the gaze of the Kusanin chief. Yet he still did so unflinchingly, with eyes as bright and hard as marbles. It was interesting. And perhaps more interesting still was how the ANBU guard had stiffened.

Oyadama had been a leader for much of his adult life, and in that time he had known many breeds of men. He had seen their best and their worse. Their deep insecurities, cowardice and cruelty. He had seen acts of desperation, of bravery. He had known cowards, liars, madmen, soldiers, sons and fathers and politicians. Oyadama _knew_ men. Yet this apparition before him, dressed untidily in clothes too big for him – unsteady, unkempt, and small – _this_ man he did not know. This teacher of Konoha, standing barefoot on the dirt of his floor, hovered outside of his experience.

'_Shouda,'_ he thought. _'You've brought us a prairie fire. Even if you dig ditches, he only jumps them. "A force" – I did not know what you meant.'_

"You'll receive money for your teaching to do with as you please." As he said the words, he expected that the suddenness of his acquiescence would breed surprise, gratitude. In fact, he had already turned his back, hand raised to dismiss them when the volley was unexpectedly returned.

"And a cow." Umino's voice rang out oddly in the silence, and when both Kusanin had turned to him, dumbfounded, he insisted, "I need an animal that gives milk."

A prairie fire, as he had said – mouthy and audacious.

Oyadama's face split in a grin that displayed all of his brilliant white teeth. He chuckled. "Granted, firebrand. Now get out of here before I have you dragged behind a horse."

* * *

Next Chapter: Grasshoppers and a monster.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

The grasshopper was fully as long as his finger with banded wings, black on gold. Agitated, the creatures splayed them out, its feet braced as though preparing to jump. Iruka held it tightly betwixt his fingers, displaying the insect to the crowd of youngsters, who were wearing expressions that ranged between fascinated and horrified.

Not that Iruka could entirely blame them after the announcement he had just made. After all, grasshoppers were hardly ramen. Still, protein was protein.

Behind him, the prairie was alive with the drone of a thousand more of the same creatures. They fluttered like pinwheels through the sun scorched air, emerging from the grass in spectacular flight – only to fall moments later and disappear again.

Dropping his catch into a large wicker basket, the teacher hastily shut the lid to prevent any escape. He patted it, explaining, "Chief Oyadama is going to help us, but we have to take care of ourselves too." He sneezed then, forcefully, and briefly pressed the ache behind his scar before going on. "So, today we're going to hunt for our dinner."

A brief demonstration and soon the children were off, dodging all over the field after the flying insects, diving with cupped hands and crying out in delight and frustration. Soon they were coming to him proudly with clinched fists, pleased to add their bounty to the basket.

"Look, sensei," Ryo-ki returned once, his face smothered with a crooked grin. Pressing close, he loosed his fingers enough that Iruka could see between his palms.

"Two at a time," Iruka praised him, ruffling his hair. The boy shifted away, huffing about being grown up and not needing to be babied, but his flushed and beaming face gave his real feelings away.

One of the girls lingered after depositing her catch, listening to the crinkle of moving creatures as they crawled and hopped against the inside of the wicker. "Are we really going to eat these, Sensei?" she asked uncertainly.

Before Iruka had a chance to answer her, Tan-li's hand darted out like lightning, snatching a grasshopper from the air. Before the eyes of the watching children, he put the creature in his mouth and bore down with a resounding crunch. Crows of delight echoed in the wake of this show, horrified laughter. Expressionless, the jounin commented, "Yum."

Iruka gave the man a mock glare of exasperation, hands on his hips, and to his surprise, the man responded with a faint upward twitch of the lips. For a moment they basked in the camaraderie born of shared amusement, and then the teacher noticed that the little girl beside him was wearing an expression of open devastation.

"Oh, sweetheart." He had to whip away tears from her eyelashes before he could properly reassure her. "We'll kill ours first, alright?"

* * *

There were even greater delights in store for that night. When they returned to the compound, they found two containers as tall as some of the smaller children, and when Iruka pulled up their lids they were found to be filled to the brim with yellow grain.

"Corn!" one of the girls squeaked, clasping her hands over her mouth. The golden-dun proof gleamed from the basket, two whole bushels of rough grain flour. Happy declarations followed, little hands clapping, tugging at his shirt with amazement.

"It seems the chief came through for us after all," Iruka said, smiling as he sifted his fingers through the meal, and for one of the first times since he arrived, he felt genuinely light – possibly even happy. It seemed that Kusa cared something for its children after all. He looked around at their young faces, glowing with delight.

They'd all had a busy day, brimful with emotion and activity. Iruka thought it was well time they experienced their reward. So, lips tugging with expectation, he inquired, "Shall we eat?"

The following celebration was modest. In Konoha, it might even have been considered shabby: grilling little cakes over a fire with the smell of dust underfoot – amidst wrestling children, sporadic song, and one jailer – eating corn and grasshoppers under an evening sky. For the young people in Kusagakure, though, it was the very likely the happiest experience of their young lives. It mattered; they needed to believe their leaders cared for them.

And not just their leaders.

In the beginning, Tan stood implacable by the door as he always did, but halfway through the celebration, Iruka spied one of the boys carry him a squirming bug and watch him demonstrate pinching off its head. Soon he had a crowd, clapping their hands and practicing his technique. And _that_ was important too, Iruka realized.

Bedtime came late that evening, and it wasn't until late after the lantern would usually have been dimmed that Iruka finally had a moment to pull away from the full, satisfied crowd and unwrap the leftover corn cake he had put to the side. Going to the window, he laid the gift carefully on the sill. A breeze brushed his face, and he looked out into the deep stirring of grass mixed up with stars.

"Don't go out at night, Sensei, or the monster will get you."

The unexpected admonition came from behind him. One of the little girls was rubbing her eyes sleepily, her doll wedged under an elbow.

"Oh?" Iruka blinked, and a private feeling of déjà vu rolled through him. A monster, eh? Well, he had suspected. Leaving the cake, he scooped up the waiting child. And as they walked toward bed, he said to her, "Perhaps the monster is hungry. And I hate to hear rumbling bellies in the middle of the night, don't you?"

* * *

Next chapter: Iruka encounters the Teeth in the dark.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

Things had been different between Iruka and Tan-li since they had first shared a bowl of tea, and yet still it surprised him when the jounin suggested they go for a walk through the prairie. Thinking of the children, Iruka had hesitated. However, the other man had taken him by the arm and led him towards the village's edge.

"They were on their own before you," he said, not unkindly. "I think they'll manage for a few hours."

Iruka relaxed after that. A break from being a caretaker wouldn't be such a bad thing, and besides, a growing part of him had been steadily longing to get outside the walls, away from problems that were too big for him.

Outside the gate, the land drew up in a gentle swell, rising to the height of a hill which marked the village's furthest reach. Expanding from this summit was the infinite – an endless, undulating wilderness of waist-high grass in a prairie rainbow of tan, green, and gold. Iruka stood on this precipice of inestimable space and sky – widening forever – and took a deliberate breath.

Tan-li stood beside him, his unseen eyes fixed forward. He said, "They call this the ocean."

Few within a thousand miles would have known as well as Iruka. He murmured, "So it is."

They wandered further into the vast field, weaving through the waving knolls while the grass yielded to the press of their bodies. The sound it made was reminiscent – like the constant roar of waves. When Iruka closed his eyes, only the smell was different; it was dry, mixed up with the earth. Not even the forest was quite like it.

The forest.

The stray thought must have momentarily clouded his face, because when he opened his eyes, Tan-li seemed to be gazing at him. Smirking slightly, Iruka teased, "Are you staring?" A brisk movement was the only answer, indicating it might or might not be so, and Iruka stuck his nose up. "That's not fair, you know. Imagine how you would feel if you couldn't see where I was looking."

The jounin grinned. "I could not imagine not seeing your eyes, Sensei. You speak far too much with them." But then he tilted his head, asking, "Does the mask bother you?"

The question was more ironic than he realized. For while Kakashi's mask covered the opposite half of his face, the effect was really not so different – except that _Iruka's_ masked jounin did not smile with his lips.

Iruka snorted. "I've come to accept the jounin's melodramatic preoccupation with mystique. But don't worry," he reassured, patting Tan-li's arm. "It isn't the worst psychosis I can think of."

A stir of dust in the distance caught his attention then, and Iruka squinted, shielding his eyes. Oh, he thought – the horses. He could just see them as they pranced and pirouetted, whirling under the power of their corded legs as they moved together in ever widening concentric circles. "Why do they run like that?" he wondered, hardly realizing that he had spoken aloud.

"They're playing," Tan-li answered. He seemed amused by Iruka's transfixed interest, and with an odd, mischievous twist of his mouth, he turned his head and whistled shrilly.

Iruka gasped when the herd turned on the sound, their direction shifting as though on a hinge. A hundred ears pricked and turned, and within in the time it took for the ANBU's hail to fade, the graceful animals had swallowed the distance between them and arched around the waiting nin. They pounded the ground in a cacophony so great that Iruka felt the drumbeat in his body, disrupting his heartbeat. He watched them go by in flashes of sharp hoof and tawny hide and hair in all colors from black to blond.

'_The horses have more color than the people,'_ he thought as they sifted past.

"Well," Tan-li said with a chuckle. "It seems we have company."

Iruka, who had been left breathless by the wild performance, did not at first understand what he meant. Puzzled, he pivoted his head, following the jounin's line of sight.

A throaty whinny echoed from a pretty little painted pony, stunning with her auburn patchwork and showy white socks. The animal pranced for a moment, as though uncertain, but then Tan-li made a sound low in his throat and she tiptoed closer, looking for all the world like a spectator come to investigate some new phenomenon.

Approaching them closely, the pony butted the teacher's stomach gently with her head, grunting and flaring wide nostrils. Iruka found himself both compelled and uneasy. "Tan –"

"Hush. She's only curious. Some of them are like that, just as people are."

Iruka went stock still has the lovely beast snuffled at his hair, his clothes. Hand faltering, hesitating in the air, he slowly drew it up and settled it on the pony. Gingerly, he stroked her velvet nose, and then flinched, enchanted, when she made a low nickering sound and nudged him back.

"She likes you," Tan-li told him, grinning.

Looking into the liquid brown eyes beneath thick white lashes, Iruka though it might be so. He sifted his brown fingers through the short ginger coat, feeling all along the warm body. He stopped when his hand come into contact with an anomaly. Frowning, he traced the brand on the horse's flank. It was waxy and swollen, distinctive in its zigzag shape.

Tan-li stepped closer to see what held his interest. He clicked his tongue at the redness of the mark. "Stubborn nag," he commented. "She fought."

"Fought?"

"Mm," Tan-li explained. "It's applied with a metal tong. Oh, the pain is short, really, and it is an honor. It's like this," he pressed his fingers briefly to his hitai-ate, bright in the sun. "They're our partners, and so they also carry the mark of Kusa."

It was possible that what he said was true, but even so, it made Iruka uncomfortable thinking of this creature going unwillingly under a brand.

"They say that horses can read the soul," Tan-li continued. "The lore of my people is that a man's stead is part of him, and many shinobi know their horse better than their wives, better than their children. It is a sad fact of war. Children are so slow growing. They take too long to become valuable resources."

Iruka had time to reflect that herein laid one of Kusa's bigger problems. Shouda wanted his village to be strong again, but they weren't building their young people. Too many were going into the field at the earliest possible time. And while that kind of recruitment would indeed fill taxed compliments, those kinds of soldiers died before they had enough training or experience to truly benefit their village.

'_How lucky Konoha was in Sarutobi,'_ he thought, not for the first time. How wrong things could go in the wake of war. Kusagakure was surviving, but it was only an appearance of strength. They were on the edge of disaster.

More comfortable now, Iruka leaned into the side of the pony, resting his head against the warm back. Tan-li smiled at the action. "You like them? Perhaps one day I'll teach you how to ride."

They were the wrong words: _'one day'_ oppressed Iruka's mind.

The jounin sensed the shift immediately. "Is it really so bad here, Sensei? I've often heard that Konoha is a magical place, but surely…" The sky spiraling up into the apex of heaven, the swirl of green, yellow, and brown. The sweet smell against their cheeks, and the living, powerful animal beneath his hands.

No, the land of Kusa was breathtakingly beautiful. However, it had nothing on a ramen stand with peeling paint. On rooftops and pinwheels. The animal made a soft sound, puffing into the space below his ear. Iruka turned gratefully, pressing his face into the lithe but powerful neck. He felt the pony lip the back of his shirt.

When Iruka didn't answer, the jounin changed the conversation. "I'm impressed by what you've done for the children. My mother survived most of my childhood, but even so she was often gone. It would have been nice to have a place to go." He paused then, and Iruka could almost sense the coming question. It always came down to this question sometime or another. Even his children asked it eventually, when they were old enough. "Shouda reported that you were also an orphan. Is that why you care for them?"

There it was. Iruka considered it anew as he always did, since how he answered depended on context – on who had asked and where they were. Alone in this vast space with a person who had won his unexpected esteem… Iruka smirked. He so infrequently told the truth; Kakashi would have been jealous.

"It should be an easy question, but somehow it isn't," Iruka admitted. "After the Kyuubi, Konoha was all but destroyed. Our Hokage had died, our water was contaminated, our crops destroyed. The government broke down for a little while, and they were dangerous times for displaced children. My…I had my first group of survivors then. There was safety in numbers. But a roving missing-nin came across them while I was scavenging." His throat closed momentarily, and he had to clear it before going on. "Well, times change. But the plight of the vulnerable do not."

"It is hard to imagine Konoha so broken."

"It isn't like that any more, thank the Hokage. Or, actually, the Sandaime." He smiled at his own joke. "I've known few more able leaders."

"A woman leads you now. I've heard she is over a century old, but still looks like a girl."

"Ah, both cases are exaggerated, I'm afraid," Iruka chuckled, smiling and easy again.

It wasn't destined to last.

"You couldn't be happy," the ANBU guardian said out of nowhere. His tone had turned suddenly very somber, and belatedly, Iruka read the tension in his wiry frame. Tan-li shifted, so that he was facing the chuunin directly. He asked again, "You could never be happy here?"

Realization was dawning in Iruka. He'd been drawn out into his private, beautiful place to demonstrate the grandeur of Kusa, and to have this conversation. His companion-guardian – no, his something like a friend – gazed at him intently. Wondering, couldn't he ever be happy? Wouldn't he just stay?

Yet though it was growing increasingly hard to disappoint these people, Iruka answered the only way he possibly could. "This is not my home, Tan."

He did not know what to expect – whether something like Shouda's cold fury, like Ryo-ki's flashy anger, or like the children's quiet grief. But Tan-li surprised him. Rather than deflating, Iruka's response seemed to draw him taught as a bow and dark as a thundercloud.

Uncomfortable, Iruka drew back a step, but the ANBU only moved closer, intervening in the space between them. His jaw was clinched and tight, like the conviction in his voice. "I didn't believe Shouda when he spoke of your power," he began, and a wavering kind of intensity hovered in his voice – as though he were pleading and demanding at the same time. "I didn't believe in you, but I was wrong. You _can_ change things here."

Fierceness filled expression, eerily similar to Shouda in those early days. It raised goosebumps on Iruka's arms. "Tan –"

For better or worse, he did not get an opportunity to finish. A reed song rose above the other sounds, and by now Iruka knew it for the summon it was. Tan-li stiffened, uncertain. Certainly, he had seen the way Iruka had involuntarily tensed, unready to leave this place but resigned. The teacher fully expected to be caught by the arm and dragged back to the village. But then Tan-li did something incredible.

He asked, "Will you give me your parole?"

Would he stay, left alone in a field so distant from the village? Would he not attempt to escape? Iruka considered it, and the faith that Tan was demonstrating by even posing such a question. "Yes," he decided finally, and the ANBU nodded. Trusting him.

Then he was gone in a flicker as short as a breath. Iruka looked after him enviously, wishing that his body would work at that speed. He sighed. Oh well.

He turned back to the pony, but the animal had become agitated. It had its ears back and made uneasy noises. Iruka looked around, wondering what could have upset her, but to his eyes there was nothing but waving grass for miles and miles and miles. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching for her neck. The horse shied away, and, with a nervous toss of her head, galloped off in the direction of her fellows.

Perplexed, Iruka watched her go. Then he found himself truly alone.

Being alone on the prairie was a whole new kind of empty. They had ventured far from Kusagakure, and for as far as he could see in every direction, there was nothing but himself and the wind and the grass. Iruka relished it after so long of being under scrutiny.

"Ah," he commented, absently rubbing his calf, which was cramped from the awkward way he had been carrying his weight recently. Ruefully, he reflected that he was still in no shape to get very far, even if had been improving. And he thought, '_Shouda,__ you bastard. Did you think even this far ahead?'_

Easing himself down, Iruka laid back and spread his limbs luxuriously. The greenery crunched as it folded, pillowing his head, and he closed his eyes. He let his mind drift, lingering over thoughts of home and of his current work. Of grasshoppers and jailer-guardians and little boys trying to grow up too fast…

A sudden deeper hush attracted Iruka's attention – even the insects seemed to have stopped buzzing. In the dead silence, the crackle of someone approaching seemed especially loud, and the teacher sat up, wondering who it could be.

An unknown little boy stood just paces away. Startled by his close proximity, Iruka nonetheless found himself greeting. "Well. Hello."

There was no response.

Iruka considered this mystery boy in the silence, his gaze wandering over the dark brown skin, the dirty toes, and almost complete nakedness. He was young, younger than Ryo-ki. Perhaps eight-years-old. And the few things he was wearing – an overlarge shirt, a fingerless glove, a ring of dog tags – reminded Iruka suspiciously of a Kusanin shinobi's gear. Yet the items looked piecemeal, as though he had stolen them in separate parts…or taken them off a body. Moreover, a tense, uneven feeling hung about the boy. Something fearsome.

Iruka guessed, "Are you the monster?"

The child barred sharp teeth, a seesaw smile.

Ah. Well, that answered that question. "Are you going to say 'hello'?" he asked.

The boy stared at him for a long time, until Iruka began to wonder if he could even understand speech. Then, just as suddenly as he had made his appearance, the creature broke position and stalked forward. He stuck his nose next to Iruka's, so close the tips touched.

"'llo," he said.

Then he proceeded to plop down in the teacher's lap, matter-of-factly looping an arm around his neck and rubbing their cheeks together. Only slightly taken aback by the bizarre transition, Iruka gazed steadily into golden eyes, liquid amber with dark rings around the edges. _'Like a dogs,'_ he thought, and speculated if the comparison might not be too far off.

"Are you the one who's been sneaking around the window at night?" the teacher wondered. When no answer seemed to be coming, he sighed and gave up. He ran his fingers through the roots of the unusually stiff bangs, commenting, "_You_ need a bath."

A sudden rain of metal interrupted further conversation as a row of kunai buried themselves deep into the soil beside Iruka's leg. A warning, as it turned out, for the very next moment, a muscled Kusanin hurled himself at them from nowhere, blade brought to bear. Startled, Iruka only had time to drag up his arm and deflect the knife blow from the little boy's neck with an expert twist of his wrist. He felt the blade hit bone, going wild.

What happened next would remain hazy in Iruka's memory for years afterward. He remembered the flash of the sun off of metal, saw his arm sheeted in blood. Then there was only the recollection of a sound like a roar, of blistering chakra, and too many teeth. Then the shinobi that had attacked them was reeling on the ground somewhere between shock and pain, his hand spasming over his throat, now a red cavern, which bled and bled and bled.

"_IRUKA!_"

He heard Tan-li call his name, and was stunned by how frantic he sounded. He and two others emerged from the grass, spreading around them defensively. The way that they looked at the boy, it was as though he were something terrible, and though they had their weapons drawn, they did not approach more closely.

Slowly, Iruka stood. It seemed clear to him now that he had fallen upon the village abomination, and that the keening shinobi who lay clinching his neck might well have been trying to rescue him.

"Sensei, are you alright?" Tan-li asked tersely.

"I'm fine," Iruka responded. He was bleeding, but while the laceration on his arm was still leaking sluggishly, it was already beginning to clot.

The monster seemed disturbed by his wound, however. Fearfully, the boy held Iruka's wrist in both his hands as though he were just short of licking it. However, the hostile crowd still had his ringed eyes darting around, and instead he tugged, trying to drag Iruka further into the sea of grass.

Iruka held his ground. "I'm afraid not, little one. I gave my word, and anyway I can only handle being kidnapped once at a time."

The Kusa shinobi choose this moment of distraction to venture forward, but then the creature snapped his head around and bore his teeth with such an unnerving growl that the men shied away like panicked horses.

Iruka exhaled ruefully. "Tan-li, it's really too bad you and I are friends," he said. "Because this would be a great opportunity to escape."

Yet while he might have held a ninja's changeable version of honor, as a friend and as a human his oaths were binding. He looked out into the distant grassland, somewhere in the midst of which was the long way home. Then he swallowed hard, and took a step back towards his captors.

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka and the monster appear before the village council.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

* * *

It amazed Iruka to find that, however much Kusagakure was different from his Konoha, their council of elders was much the same. Now they sounded like a hive of agitated bees, and the chamber was noisy with the buzz of their outraged voices and the clamor of overlapping oaths and declarations.

Over everything was the stink of their fear. At his side, the child-beast's nose twitched as if he could sense it, and Iruka gripped his hand hard, hoping to keep the boy from doing anything untoward. Turning, he addressed the mill of men and voices. "I don't understand. He's just a little boy."

Paralyzed expressions gazed back at him. A few even had their mouths open, lips trembling. One of the men declared, "He's an abomination. Half-human." Then, swallowing, he heaved explosively, "He's a devourer of human flesh!"

"He eats people?" Iruka looked at his charge, stunned by the revelation.

The child only grinning at him toothily.

"Oh dear. But you liked the cake I set out for you, right?" he asked. A pink tongue flicked over dark lips, which Iruka took as confirmation. He told the elders, "I think we can work on that."

Chief Oyadama had spent most of the audience plucking at his chin and staring at the little boy, captivated, as though the child had stepped out of a tale. Periodically, his black eyes would snap up to exchange glances with a smoldering Shouda, but now he finally stood, his voice rising to cut off the sputtering, fearful outrage of his fellows.

"Let me see if I understand, Sensei," he said slowly. "You want to keep this…_this_."

The indefinite way that he spoke of the boy gave Iruka the opportunity to ask a question of his own. "He isn't a sealed beast?" he asked, and when the chief hesitantly denied it, he asserted surely, "But he is something."

The Kusa elder appeared uncomfortable. "The prairie is a very spiritual land. The earth is close the sky, and sometimes elements mix. His mother was a shinobi of our village. She lay with a lesser demon – an unnatural union with unnatural offspring. She did not survive the birth, which may have been just as well. We could not keep the child; and so he was – left. Supposed to die. But in these past years, when people would go out at night and not return –"

He coughed uneasily.

Iruka's knew that his background affected his reaction to the story. He had Naruto's blue eyes in the front of his mind, grinning at him out of a neglected face, squinting and kitsune-like. He had the memory of other people's depths of ignorance. He had his own hard-won lessons. It made his lips stick to his teeth, fighting not to curl when he spoke.

"You abandoned him to die. And then you wondered why someone with such a heritage turned against you? If he had been even a regular little boy he might have started picking off your men and animals out of the sea." And though he did not say it, it was clear that he condemned them. His grip tightened around the child-beast's hand. He insisted, "As it is, you can see now that he's more than an unnatural thing. He's a child. And he's your kin. You have to take care of him."

"Sensei," one of the elders scoffed. "Look at it. It cannot communicate, cannot live in society. It's an animal."

Iruka didn't believe that. "He could learn! And he can certainly communicate." As though in demonstration, the child rubbed his cheek against the teacher's bandaged wrist.

Oyadama watched the display with a troubled expression. Unlike the others, he was not looking at the boy with contempt or trepidation. Instead, there was a deep well of emotion which Iruka could not identify. It made his eyes glisten, inky obsidian.

Finally, slowly, the chief pulled his hands behind his back. The abiding indecision that had been flitting through his demeanor was still present, and yet in spite of this, he said, "Since you propose it, Sensei, I am willing to let you have your way. I don't know if you're wasting your time, of if he might kill you even as you attempt to cultivate him. But you may try." And, turning to the frantic council, he repeated emphatically, "_He may try_, brothers. This is a problem we have neglected for far too long."

Iruka nodded vigorously. It was more than he had hoped for. "He'll surprise you. You'll see."

The chief nodded, his lips pursed. "Yes, we will see. Is there anything else?"

The teacher paused, considering. "Does he have a name?"

A puzzled silence followed. "Name it?" one of the brittle skinned elders finally wondered in confusion.

Iruka fought the urge to massage his forehead. "Never mind."

* * *

Shouda observed as his leader paced in great agitation.

"By Hiden, did you see the way the little one held onto him," the man declared. His hands would not stay still; they flapped restlessly before his flashing eyes. He swore again. "I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. It's been eight years, and then the boy tackles him the first time he sits in the tall grass."

And didn't eat him – didn't leave him mangled and bleeding in the dust and chaff. Quite the opposite, actually. They had read the reports from Tan-li and his cohorts.

Shouda smirked into his collar. "I did tell you about the Kyuubi."

"I didn't dare hope," Oyadama admitted, and in that moment, his wizened shoulders drooped and he looked fully his age. The idling hand stroked his forehead this time, at the hem of his fleecy temple. "You know my feelings in this matter. My niece –"

"I know, my Lord."

"But that there could be a chance, any change that he might join the village…" It was more than the old man could handle. He pressed his lips together and swallowed.

"They say the boy, Naruto," Shouda said slowly, "wants to be Hokage. Perhaps one day he might be. And if the Ninetails could come to such an end, then perhaps Kusagakure's monster might also find his way. If he has the right guide."

His barb struck directly into Oyadama's heart. Shouda saw it and knew his chief had become completely invested. It was a matter of personal redemption for him now. "He cannot be allowed to leave," the man spoke, and suddenly he sounded urgent. "I'll double his guard."

Shouda shook his head. "No. I've come to know our sensei, Chi-fu. If you push him too hard, he do something foolish. Best to keep him with someone he knows. After all," he said, and sneered. "He's already seduced Tan-li. The man looks after the teacher as though he were a calf."

"Mm," his chief hummed, nodding. "He's an attractive force. Even if he is also half-mad, unpredictable, sentimental..."

"He is certainly bound by his convictions," Shouda agreed. Though, he _had_ proved himself to be flexible, the captain thought – and Ri-Tou's specter hovered. "Still, I believe that if he's given time to put down roots, we won't have to worry about force forever."

"Will he? Will he eventually be contented to stay here?"

It was a matter of conjecture, but Shouda believed that he would. He stated his case; "He was transplanted once. He can do it again." And thinking of the beast, the children, and the school, he asserted. "Especially if there is something to hold him here."

* * *

Meanwhile, Iruka led his newest ward down the main path of the village. He had a headache from his confrontation with the council, as well as from the dense grass smell in the enclosed hall. Rubbing his congested sinuses, he commented, "I suppose that went as well as could be expected."

The child had been half hopping as they walked, curiously peeking into the tent-like dwellings, but he stopped at the sound of Iruka's voice.

"Mm-nn-ster," he mumbled, worrying his lips with two fingers, pinching and pulling. There was the faintest, almost indiscernible note of uncertainty in the hoarse little voice, and it suddenly occurred to Iruka to wonder how much of that audience the boy had understood.

He knelt. "Hey, I like monsters," he assured. "Almost as much as I like little boys. And you are both."

Tawny yellow eyes fixed him between their dark rings. Measuring him up. Then the brown paws curled around Iruka's sleeves, chapped cheeks drawing up as before. It was amazing how less sharp the teeth looked when he grinned that way. Iruka ruffled his stiff, spiky hair. "Come on then. Dinner time."

"Mmm," the boy hummed, beaming happily.

* * *

Next Chapter: Children are not for eating, and Naruto and Kakashi finally reach the boarder of the Land of Grass.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

* * *

Iruka laid down the ground rules as he introduced the newest member to their group of orphans. He pointed at the other children and ordered sternly, "Not for eating."

The boy pondered this seriously for a long moment, and then pointed to Tan-li.

"No, not him either," Iruka told him. "However, if you should happen to see Captain Shouda…" But the child's grave expression changed Iruka's mind in an instant. Obviously, they weren't ready for sarcasm. "Never mind. You're on an all vegetable diet for the time being."

"He doesn't look very scary," one of the children said, rocking on her heels as she peered at him over the head of her sackcloth toy. She gave the dolly a little cuddle, patting its back as though to reassure it.

The child-beast watched her curiously, then leaned forward. He reached out to mimic her motion – pat, pat, on the little girl's head. She blushed.

Iruka grinned, pleased. "Good boy," he praised. "That's a good way to be nice and make friends." To the others, he explained, "He's tired of sleeping outside by himself, and so he's going to stay with us now."

The _'by himself'_ struck hearts; the teacher could see it in their faces. Even so young, they knew loneliness. No, he didn't foresee many problems winning their acceptance. Children teased people who were different, but they were easily taught better. Adults…well, adults were harder, much more embedded in their prejudices.

But, one step at a time.

"Ryo-ki, come here," Iruka called, amused when the young man produced himself, eyes wrinkled with suspicion. Aha, he was right to be wary. "Ryo-ki," he said, drawing the older boy under his arm. "This is Han. And I've decided that you're going to be brothers."

* * *

That evening, Iruka was enjoying his usual sojourn at the window when he was interrupted by an interloper walking on cat-quiet paws. Smiling, the teacher turned from the stars and greeted, "Hello."

The boy looked so much different now that he was dressed in proper clothes. He still didn't seem entirely comfortable in them; almost constantly, he tugged on the hem of his shirt, wringing it in his hands with a grumpy expression. Iruka took the fabric out of his hands and smoothing it down. "You'll get used to it, Han," he promised. "Now, did you learn anything from Ryo-ki today?"

"Stop it. Shut up. Go away. That's my food," The boy recited.

The teacher laughed heartily. "Oh. Very impressive."

"Ru-ka?" This time the voice was more uncertain, though Iruka already thought it sounded less raspy.

"Yes?"

For a moment, Han twisted nervously, eying his toes. Then he crouched abruptly and patted the ground beside him. Iruka responded as he always had to any child who asked for affection, joining him and opening his arms. Han went into them gratefully and pressed his cheek into Iruka's neck while the older man rocked, humming.

Wearing such a contented, sleep-eyed expression – warm against the teacher's chest – Han looked just exactly like any other eight-year-old Iruka had ever known. Rubbing the young man's back, he sighed, "If you're human enough to ask for love, then you're human enough to be with other people. Yes, you're going to be just fine."

* * *

The Konoha sensei had not gone long unnoticed in the village. He was talked about, of course, and some had seen him at a distance with the children. Mostly, however, there were rumors.

They said he was dark, but in a different way than most Kusa men, with his face gashed up cruelly and water always leaking from his eyes. Some even said that he had caught the Teeth in the Dark, and now the monster protected him in his shadow like a dog. That information had widened eyes. The monster – imagine. Some even thought that perhaps the legends they had heard about him were true.

But if he was a legend, he wasn't a terribly conspicuous one, and life went on much as it had for the civilians of Kusagakure. Certainly, the woman who sold grain and potatoes was not thinking of him as she maneuvered down the main street one early morning, carrying two loaded baskets.

The baskets were unwieldy and too full. In one, withered brown tubers shifted, and often she had to stop and brace her legs to steady them. It was as she grappled in this way, seeking balance, that a Kusa shinobi turned the corner directly into her path. Viciously, he shoved her out of his way without even looking, striding on, oblivious to the teetering baskets.

Her eyes bulged; they would fall! But then, miraculously, the weight steadied and a voice spoke from around the broad bulk of the baskets: "How rude."

Bewildered, the woman shifted and realized that another set of hands had kept her from tumbling to ruin on the path. A dusky face blinked at her. "Are you alright?"

The merchant woman nodded numbly. Shinobi! She recognized him as the teacher from Konoha, and yet it stunned her how perfectly ordinary he looked. It was true: his colors were different, a half shade unique to any she'd ever seen. But still he was hardly grotesque or disfigured or fearsome – the single streaking scar reminded her of someone grinning. Realizing that she was gawking like some half-wit calf, she shut her mouth like a trap.

"This is heavier than it looks," the teacher commented, adjusting the weight so that it fell fully on his shoulder. "Here. I'll take it for you."

The woman instantly soured. Thief. They were always thieves.

But then the shinobi asked, "Well? Where are we going?" He smiled when the woman stared at him in confusion, patiently clarifying, "I don't know where your shop is, lady. You'll have to tell me where to take this for you."

Realization that she wasn't being robbed dawned slowly at first, and then it flooded like a sudden rain; she felt drenched and speechless. Her astonishment only deepened when he followed her, carrying both heavy baskets while she walked beside him. She was awash in the unexpected, chivalric intervention, in the kindness he showed, in the polite way he addressed her.

Even when they reached her stall, he did not leave, but stooped to help her and her elderly father store their wares. Her patriarch stared with the same wonder that she had as the strong back bent to share their work.

"There are rat droppings here," the teacher commented once when he straightened.

"Yes," her father said. "No matter what we do, no one can figure how to keep the vermin out. They eat or ruin a quarter of our grain every year."

The genuine look of dismay on the face of the Konoha sensei was both unmistakable and difficult to understand. Hands braced on his hips, he said, "That's far too much. Especially since a seal could solve most of it."

"A seal?" the woman asked, bewildered.

"Yes," the teacher said, and bit down hard on the pad of his thumb. While they watched, he inked two bold symbols low on the corner of the door. They glowed briefly before fading, russet red. "There. Something like this doesn't require blood, of course. Just the marks and a little charka. Any shinobi could do it."

Perhaps any could, but most wouldn't. The shinobi and civilian parts of Kusagakure did not mix. The woman told him as much; "There isn't one who would stoop to bleed for my benefit."

"The preservation of resources and the wellbeing of those who supply them benefits the entire village," the sensei said stubbornly. He looked at his work. "That should do for the rats, though I'm afraid it's not sturdy enough to keep out stronger thieves." His expression was wry, making it clear that he had some understanding of another, deeper issue. Sucking on his finger, he commented, "If I can get a hold of some ink, I can seal some of the other storage buildings, if you like. You'll help, won't you, Tan?"

The civilians turned, goose pimpled. They'd been unaware that there was another in audience, and the cold half-mask chilled them to the bone. But then the soldier nodded and said, "Of course, Sensei. If you'll show me how."

The teacher chuckled. "Surely the big, bad elite knows a simple pest control jutsu."

The ANBU scratched his chin. "I do know a lot about pests."

The woman and her father watched the banter with growing wonder. In their minds, shinobi were little better than brutes – fierce, arrogant, and almost less than human. This levity among them was something they had never seen.

Then the teacher put his hand on the woman's shoulder. "He's speaking of me, I'm afraid," he told her, drawing them into the conversation. And that was almost as stunning as everything that had come before. The man laughed like the sound of water being poured from a pitcher. "Just because I make him help with laundry. It's good for him though, right?"

Dumbly, the merchant woman nodded. Never realizing that she was staring at him, awestruck – basking in his light.

"If you need something else," he was saying. "You can come find me at the school. Alright?"

After that, word spread like a fire throughout the civilian sector. Of the Konoha sensei who was everything the legend said and even more. That he was handsome and good, and he could keep animals out of your food or your barn. Soon, more and more of the villagers were venturing to "the school" to timidly seek help or advice, and while they were there they would see the children, smiling and happy and provided for. It wasn't long before payment for the teacher's little favors began to show up on the compound doorstep in the form of eggs, bundles of vegetables, or sacks of rice or wheat.

It was the beginning of the forging of a connection, the healing of a breech.

* * *

By the time that Kakashi and Naruto reached the border of Kusa, they had been traveling for almost a month. A month of thinking about their precious person, cloistered somewhere in the hands of their foes. A month of driven travel – of sleepless nights and restless dreams and frayed nerves. Trail-worn and lean, they must have looked a grim sight to the rice merchant whose contact they finally made, because even once they had given him the letter and explained their purpose, he still looked uneasy.

"I can help you across the border," the trader told them. "But my contacts take the rice from there, and they couldn't be trusted with the safety of a pair of Konoha shinobi. Nor could you kill them with impunity. They're a link in a chain, and even their absence would quickly announce you. So you'll be on your own once you're in the Land of Grass." He shook his head, as though in dismay.

Kakashi bore into the man with a dark, half-lidded eye. "We've made it this far," he growled, low. "We'll go the rest of the way."

Tossing a disapproving glare at his former teacher, Naruto cut in, "What he means is that anything you do will be good enough. And thank you."

Still, it was only with great uncertainty that the man took up a stylus and then passed a ruffled parchment scrap into Kakashi's hand. "I don't need to tell you how this information could come down on my head. You'll destroy it?" And when it had been confirmed, "May fortune go with you, then. I hope you find what you're looking for."

The moon was high when they set out, and so it was with special caution that the two-man team followed the directions they'd been given. It was a smuggler's guide – backdoor notes – and it lead them along dim, narrow byways along which they crept like the shinobi they were. Until, finally, the scruff of vegetation grew sparse and the overhead cover receded. And when they had finally passed beyond the brush…

The prairie stretched out and out like an endless scroll of parchment.

Naruto sucked in a breath. "It's huge. Kakashi, how are we supposed to find him?"

The copy-nin bit through his lip to keep from growling, his gloves clinching so hard they creaked. His gaze over the grassland was cold; it was an enemy, this land, but he ground his teeth and refused any creeping dismay. They would find what they were looking for – Kakashi swore it to himself, as he had many times on this long, long trip.

He was going to find Iruka, even if he had to turn over every damn blade of grass.

* * *

Next Chapter: Iruka encounters another of Kusa's evils.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

* * *

Instinct was a fickle medium at the best of times. It had little to do with facts or evidence; rather, it was the hairs drawn up on the back of one's neck, the prickle of unease trailing down the spine. It was a dry mouth – the suspicion of a thunderstorm on a cloudless day, a chemical smell and a pallor.

But, however illogical, shinobi lived and died by their instincts and Iruka was no exception.

Which was why, one afternoon, he didn't question the ugly feeling that washed over him when Han came up unexpectedly and reported, "Ruka. Can't find Ryo-ki."

It was wrong. Han had been following the older boy around like a puppy for days, stalking him and hanging on him and mimicking his every word. Ryo-ki reciprocated after his own fashion – a little paternally, like any big brother. But Iruka had seen the evidence of the bond growing between them, of the way Han was already jealous of his time and attention, of the way Ryo-ki would drag the 'monster' around by the hand. They would take care of each other, he'd decided – and, with any luck, they'd take care of the others too when the time came.

Which was why finding them apart, for Han not to know where Ryo-ki was…

Iruka was heading for the door of the compound almost before he'd consciously decided to go. "Stay here, Han," he commanded, and when the boy's face crumpled in protest: "No, you'll cause an uproar and I need to move quickly. Stay here and watch the little kids, you understand me?"

The frown that Han returned was full of sour unhappiness, but he nodded obediently. "O-k, Ruka."

Turning to another little boy, Iruka ordered, "Go tell Tan," and then he ducked out of the sunken aperture.

Searching was harder when one didn't know what one was looking for, and so it was with a growing anxiety that Iruka's vision swung around, down alleys and between tents. The disabling limp had never frustrated him so much. And yet, when he finally found Ryo-ki, it wasn't with his eyes.

A shock of distressed chakra burst to life suddenly, resonating within his system and stopping him dead. It had been one of the first and only techniques that Iruka had taught his children; a signal flare, a call for help. The chuunin bolted, heading for the fading pulse at close to a dead run.

Iruka knew all that men were capable of – all of their deliberate evils, their intentional and unintentional cruelties – and yet he was still not prepared for what he saw when he finally emerged onto the main path. There, he found a corral of three men gathered tightly. They were grinning – the kind of grin that men formed when they were excited. That alone turned Iruka cold, even before he saw beyond them to the prey they had cornered – wide-eyed, and trapped against a tent.

Iruka knew that tousled head – those wide, wandering eyes. Ryo-ki.

And one of the men had their hand down his pants.

Iruka's shriek was one of an avenging parent animal and not of a nin. A flare of chakra loosed a tent peg in a puff of dust, and the next second saw it relodged, fixed firmly amidst a gurgling throat of blood. The man dropped like a weight, his clawing, violating hands scrabbling at his neck in the last erratic jerks of life. Ryo-ki let out a little keening sound at his sensei's back.

Feral, Iruka turned, snarling, on the other men, but while the flash flood of his fury had given him the strength and opportunity for that first kill, it was quickly obvious that his advantage was gone. The faces – formerly distorted and leering – were staring at him now, their eyes distended with shock. Murderer. Now that Iruka was paying attention, he could feel the fields of their bristling power. They were nin, and he was sorely outclassed.

That fact, more than anything, destroyed what remained of Iruka's senses. His words, beginning at a whisper, slowly built until red hazed his eyes and he demanded, "How dare you. How dare you, how dare you!" Almost inarticulate, the words gushed out, "You're shinobi! You're supposed to protect him!"

Iruka spat into the mixture of blood and dirt at his feet, insensible to the rage his action inspired. It meant little that they would certainly kill him. They had hurt his boy.

He'd destabilized one of the dwellings when he'd procured his weapon, and now its residents spilled out. They mixed with a growing, transfixed crowd, and the teacher realized suddenly – there were people around. There were shinobi near enough that they should have sensed the beacon Ryo-ki sent out. If the boy had been dragged off into the grass, he might have been lost. But this was not some disgrace perpetrated in secret.

Iruka could _see_ the council hall from his vantage point.

The shock of his entrance, the bloodletting, and his words did not long occupy the remaining nin. Their faces maroon with fury, they approached with metal drawn. Iruka was once again unarmed. It made the pads of his fingers itch, and he pressed back until he could feel the boy, shielding him with his body, and he thought, _'We're going to be killed here before this crowd, with dozens of people watching and letting it happen.'_

Yet even as he tensed, readying himself to fight – even as the leading assailant raised up his blade – a hiss of displaced air stirred Iruka's bangs. Then the curve of Tan-li's back momentarily blocked his view, a flash of grey-blue, and then when the teacher looked again, the nin who had attacked them lay on the road in two parts, joined by a viscous red sea.

Faced with the porcelain mask and the arching cobalt sword, the last man turned and fled, coward as well as pervert. Iruka – staring at his defender's back, his raised weapon, and his deadly, rigid mouth – thought to wonder just when it was that Tan had ceased to be a jailer and started being a guardian.

The crowd that had grown was hushed with the violence. And for some reason, their witless stupor awakened the full ferocity of Iruka's wrath. Throatily, he addressed them, "You're supposed to be protectors." His eyes were stinging, and he felt physically sick. "You brutal bastards, how did you let things get this bad?"

Stares; they stared at him. He wondered if they even had enough sensibility left to hear his words – if it meant anything to them that a young boy had almost met ruin before their jaded eyes.

He spat at them, "You can blame yourselves for the weakness of your village. This apathy is hollowing you out, eating up your vulnerable spaces. If you're finally destroyed, you'll _deserve_ it."

And to Shouda, to _Shouda_ he thought, _'Nothing will ever change like this.'_

Iruka turned to Ryo-ki, who was clinging to him, pressed so close that his forehead dug painfully into Iruka's ribs. Every shift made the child's fists bunch, and he was wheezing with panic. Iruka picked him up, drawing the trembling child into his arms. And whereas, before, the boy might have thrashed, insisting he was too old to be held, tonight he put his thin, shivering arms around his teacher's neck and hid his face without a sound of protest.

Iruka walked with him out of the stationary crowd and limped toward the school, the little boy in his arms and anger whirling in his heart.

* * *

Iruka sat, surrounded by a curtain of soft, overlapping breaths. Ryo-ki's head was pillowed on his lap, and he ran his fingers absently through the thick, dark hair as his thoughts drifted. Tan was near the window, standing very erect as he pierced the evening with his unseen eyes. They hadn't spoken since word had come that there would be no repercussions for the deaths on the road. Tan-li had been doing this job, and Iruka was deemed too valuable to put to death. Murder was a flexible concept among shinobi anyway, and in Kusa, this was even more than usually true.

A low sound like a gurgle slipped out of Ryo-ki's mouth. In his sleep, his eyelashes fluttered, and a slow dribble squeezed between the lids, making a trail down his cheek. The sting this brought to Iruka's own eyes was accompanied by residual outrage. He couldn't breathe; the apathy of Kusagakure lay over his back like a cloak weighted with lead. And it made him long to carry them all away – his children.

Finally, he could sit still no longer. Gently, he shifted himself from under Ryo-ki, who squirmed, unsettled. But then Han's arm tightened around him and the two boys settled again, shoulder to shoulder.

Tan-li looked up when he approached the door. "Will you watch over them" Iruka asked. And when the jounin shifted nervously, "Please. I need to be outside."

"Your parole, Sensei?"

Weary. They were both weary. Iruka inclined his head and then ducked into the blue shadow.

He was limping heavily again as he weaved through the tents; his ill-advised attack had strained the healing joint, undoing much of his recent progress. Leaning against the side of a dwelling, he reached to massage his leg, and could feel the hot swelling beneath the loose fabric. Sighing, he wiped his brow. A weakling and a cripple in a village of enemies, he reflected with a flush of self-loathing. How was he supposed to protect his children this way?

'_And what will you do when they request recruits from your fold?'_ The thought flitted, errant and full of bitterness to the surface of his mind_: 'Will you put a tent peg in their throat too?'_

"Report."

The night was so quiet that the sudden voice carried clearly through the evening air. Iruka went still as he recognized the smoldering quality of the command – _Shouda_. He dared not move from his hidden niche between the houses; on a night like this one, he was too afraid of his own temper. Not to mention the explanation he would have to make for being unescorted. No, it would be best if he just turned around and went back quietly…

"It's confirmed, Captain. The kage of Konoha is not taking action."

The teacher froze.

Shouda's answer held a note of surprise. "None?"

"I assure you, sir. He's a missing nin in their register. And not only him, but two others since."

"You think there might have been a cell?"

Iruka couldn't see their nod, but he suspected it when the man continued, "The boarder guards reported a breech the day before yesterday. Description: two fair-haired men, one a youth. They were pursued; expected to be intercepted by sundown."

Fair-haired – one man and a boy. Iruka's heart began to pound. And missing-nin. _Missing-nin._

Shouda made a contemplative sound low in his throat. "The border guard had my orders?"

"Yes, Captain. They'll send a confirmation that the bodies were destroyed by morning."

Numbness deafened the teacher to anything further. He clinched and unclenched shaking hands and breathed – tried to breath. There we only two things on earth that could have driven Iruka to break his word to Tan-li, and he'd just been told that both of them were somewhere in Kusa, dead or dying because they'd chosen to come after him.

Iruka turned dead in the night and began moving rapidly toward the eastern gate.

* * *

The grassland was not as kind as the trees to Iruka. He tripped over ground-covering vines, and the plant life crackled noisily no matter now carefully he stepped. The great, wide expanse under the silver moon seemed as barren and exposed as the surface of a lake, and even his dark skin was painted a ghostly lunar pale. So he staggered onward, sacrificing stealth for speed – knowing that distance could be his only protection. Knowing that his only hope was to get lost in this vast nothing.

It wasn't meant to be.

When the alarm went up, it was swallowed in the prairie's empty spaces; only in Iruka's mind did it echo. Tan or… A sick realization struck, then; or a silent watcher had come to check on him. Perhaps even Shouda himself. He'd been missed.

Iruka redoubled his speed, but he didn't have the stamina to get far very quickly. His chest _burned_ with every heave of his ribs, and his leg felt like lead, so that he came to feel as though he were dragging a long chain fixed with an anchor. Less than half a mile passed before doom rained down upon his head.

If Tan-li was an owl, then Shouda was an eagle. Iruka _heard_ him, but when the strike came, it fell against his bones like a sack of stones. Iruka hit the dirt shoulder first with force enough to star his vision, and a cut-off grunt of pain escaped from his throat as he was gripped harshly and flung down. Dazed, he could not retaliate when Shouda's fingers twisted against his scalp, viscously clubbed his face against the ground, once and then again. When he hauled Iruka up by the collar of his shirt, the teacher hung, almost senseless.

Fury swallowed Shouda's whole being. He was a trumpet of the color black, with only the livid white of his round eyes to break the dark. "Where are you going, Sensei?" Shouda hissed into Iruka's ear, drawing him close. "Have I not made it clear to you that your place is here? No, you know. You know exactly. How far are you going to push me?"

Furious, he shook Iruka, rattling the frame of his bones.

Yet it was only when the captain cast him down, reaching for, deliberately squeezing Iruka's injured knee that the teacher regained his senses enough to fight. Then a grinding, purposeful wrench tore the world in half, and afterwards the teacher writhed, gagging on bile and heaving dry. Shouda stomped heavily on the damaged joint for good measure, and Iruka's consciousness was marred with black splotches.

Shouda's voice filtered through like blood through water: "This will be your last night you defy your destiny, Sensei. Tonight, we're going to finish this."

Thereafter, Iruka would only dimly remember being dragged back into the village. Through a blur of agony, he heard the captain ordering a blaze built, but the commands he issued faded, indistinct. He saw flashes of a great number of gathering people, of a stricken, helpless Tan. Then harsh hands were stripping off his shirt, forcing him onto his back and holding him there.

Shouda's face loomed large above him, distorted almost beyond recognition with his blankest, most fearful rage. He held an metal implement in his hand, and the end glowed in the night like a row of orange-red teeth. "Do you wish to be treated like chattel?" he demanded. "Do you wish to forsake all dignity?"

Realization made his eyes wide, and Iruka's voice cracked, begging, "No. Shouda, don't. Let me go. Just let me go."

The captain gazed at him with aphotic eyes. "You belong to this village," he said.

Then there was heat, relentless burning. Convulsions. Babbling, and inarticulate sounds.

* * *

Next chapter: Iruka the clone makes a reappearance, while Iruka himself faces the consequences of his actions.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

* * *

They put him under guard for the night. Two armed men stood outside the door of the cramped storage space where he had been cast, sprawled, and now he laid there alone in the featureless dark, taking shallow breaths. A sticky residue was tracked down his cheeks from tears of wretchedness or pain. There was a lot of pain.

With a shudder, Iruka curled weakly, his pulse fluttering feebly against his temple. Feeble, like his life-force, which was as dim as the last nugget of coal in a pile of ash. Yet ever since his earliest youth when he'd realized how low his stores were, charka control had been a part of his life. Iruka could divide his heartbeat even if the only power he had was a grain of sand.

Still, it took every ounce of his flagging reserves to fold his fingers into the right position, to whisper the words like a breathy plea. There was a shift and release. A drift of white smoke; and then a hunched figure swayed at his side.

Iruka struggled to speak. "Ichi, I don't believe they're dead."

The clone had his memories. It knew all that had happened and reached out. Fearfully, it stoked his face, making sounds of shared sorrow. Though it refused to look at the swollen red burn welted over his collarbone.

Iruka didn't have the strength left to push the caress away; his head rocked, lolling as he commanded, "Stop, stop it. Go find them." But the clone shook its head, desolate and unwilling. Iruka's voice cracked at the force of his reissued order: "Go!"

Finally, it did as it was told, slipping away – a flicker too small to sustain the life of a mouse. But though strained, the apparition held. Distantly, Iruka knew that his clone found the herd of horses Tan-li had introduced him to. Knew that the pony would carry the it further than it could run. That, this time, there would be no discovery since _he_ was still here, under guard.

Exhausted, Iruka laid on his back and stared up at the thatch with half-lidded eyes. His vision hazed, and there was a sensation of sputtering, like a nub of flame pressed against wax. He exhaled, an empty, rattling sound. There was too little. Too little left of him.

* * *

Only the most extreme exercise of their combined, formidable gifts had allowed Kakashi and Naruto to break their pursuers' trail. They'd had to double back and double back, so that what small progress they had made was utterly lost. Finding the Village Hidden in the Grass was beginning to seem impossible. Naruto was morose about it, sulking in a thoroughly unprofessional way. However, emotional attachment had driven this mission from the beginning, and so Kakashi didn't censure him.

"We aren't going to find him, are we?" They were crouched in an especially thick plait of grass, vaguely sheltered by a knoll against which they'd pressed their backs. The boy pressed his face into his hands. "Kakashi –"

"Failure isn't an option. Would you go back now? Tsunade would turn you over to Ibiki."

"You don't understand her. Sensei doesn't either, but I don't believe that she wants him to be gone. She'll let him come back – she'll let all of us come back."

The persistent faith that the brat had in her, even now, was like a spur jammed deeply into the stinking wound of betrayal, inflamed and unhealthy, at Kakashi's core. His temper had, in fact, been getting sharper and sharper every day, and so it was with uncharacteristic venom that he snapped, "Do you even _know_ what missions she sends him on?"

Naruto fidgeted uncomfortably, evading, "He gets hurt a lot. Sensei's clumsy."

"_Sensei_ is more than just clumsy," the copy-nin spat, and bitterness burned rancid in his stomach. "Square that with your '_obaa-chan_.'"

The younger man opened his mouth as though to argue, but any further deterioration was forestalled by distant hoof beats, and the sound transformed the shinobi instantly – a wolf and a fox. Crouched and ready, their eyes skimmed above the grass, sweeping, watching. Finally, Kakashi whispered, "There."

Far off, they saw a painted horse. A drooping silhouette rose from its back, slumped as though exhausted against the animal's neck. Curiously, Kakashi sought the face, but it was hidden in a robe of dawn-shadow. Still, he thought he could just make out a flopping ponytail…

The copy-nin stood up starkly, ignoring Naruto's sharp intake of breath. "Iruka," the word fell numbly from his mouth. A swell of certainty and amazement followed, and he shouted, "Iruka!"

The horse hesitated, prancing uncertainly. The unseen face lifted. Then Kakashi took off, closing the distance between them with all of his impressive speed. The unknown rider practically fell from the saddle, dismounting clumsily. Through the dim, Kakashi saw a hand come up, flashing a single signal: "_comrade_."

The world rotated once before righting itself on its axis. Kakashi breathed, "Ichi."

Ichi was Iruka's first clone – the unnaturally independent doppelganger that Kakashi had spent a fortnight on the steppe coming to know. The one whose friendship had meshed him with Iruka forever. And the one that he'd killed to save its origin. The one he'd betrayed… But, mercifully, he was given no chance to dwell on the sinking feeling which welled up to battle his relief, because as soon as they were close enough, 'Iruka' flung itself at him.

Dazed, Kakashi reeled in mind and spirit. Only in his deepest dreams had he dared to imagine this reunion, but even so, he could never have expected his own reaction; he could not let go.

"We got the message you left in the tree," he said instead. "But we couldn't find the village."

Naruto had left cover almost as soon as Kakashi when he recognized his teacher. He seemed to know the double for what it was, because he blurted, "Is Sensei okay?"

It left Kakashi feeling unaccountably bereft when the clone let go, but the emotion was soon superseded by others more pressing when 'Iruka' signed to them, "_Hurt, hurt, hurthurthurt_."

Rapid directions followed, the unveiling of the unseen route they had been seeking – two days away. Two days away at least. Kakashi braced his hands against the apparition's shoulders. "Let him know we're coming for him, okay?"

The clone answered with a timorous nod, and immediately its hands came up to dismiss. But before it could, Kakashi caught its wrist tightly.

Puzzled, the clone looked at him with Iruka's brown eyes, and Kakashi's mind went back to a barren, bone-dry land not very far from here. He thought of little rains and knots of cord, and – with a nauseating pang – he recalled the snapping sound bone made when the vertebra parted. He'd lost nights of sleep over that sound, though it defied all logic. It was a just clone, just a figment, but…

"I'm sorry." The copy-nin swallowed thickly, repeating himself, "I'm sorry."

Iruka had the most expressive eyes, even when he couldn't speak. The warm, familiar hand pressed against his forearm, a faint, reassuring touch. And then its face vanished in a puff of grey smoke.

* * *

Iruka passed the days in a haze and a burning throb over his collar bone. He refused to look at the wound, which had quickly grown tight and infected until the front of his shirt was a seeping, stinking blotch. The Kusanin did not care – aside from his dislocated shoulder, he'd been left untended. Infection meant the brand would leave a more distinct scar.

Even after he'd been returned to the school compound, he continued to fade. Some of the children understood, but most didn't. Iruka left Ryo-ki and Han to herd them, and though it had been what he'd hoped for… At least Shouda had stayed away. His helplessness was ugly enough without having the man before him while he was unable to even lever himself up from the floor without feeling dizzy.

Not that he had any interest in getting up. Instead, he lolled feverishly, propped against the wall with his leg curled awkwardly like a broken twig. Knelling beside him, Tan's familiar hands eased back his head, trying to help him accept the cup he offered. But the water choked him, and he would not take it.

"Iruka, you must drink," Tan whispered. "Would you have Chishou do it?"

Chishou. There was another guard now, though his job was more to keep Iruka alive than to keep him from leaving. Already, once, the chuunin had made an attempt to kill himself, but the merciless new ANBU had just forced his fingers down Iruka's throat and pulled up the cloth he'd swallowed. Iruka understood Tan's point; if Chishou had to force feed him, it was certain to be an ungentle process.

"Why did you run?" Tan-li asked, and his husky voice had one note each of incomprehension and sorrow.

Iruka just looked at him. He was sorry for breaking his word to the only person in Kusagakure whom he trusted. Sorry also for the trouble his guardian had been in. He was not sorry that he had tried to leave. There was nothing he could say, or any explanation he could give, that this man would understand.

"They're going to put you on trial," Tan-li went on. "What Shouda did was unsanctioned, and its caused a stir. People are angry. A whole group of civilians blocked the hall this morning, crying for explanation, for reform, and the Chi-fu did not put them down." He paused, shaking his head. "Nothing like this has ever happened."

There were many things that had never happened in Kusagakure. Iruka opened his mouth, and through a raw throat, said, "They can't charge me for trying to escape. I was within the shinobi code."

"Ah, but you are a Kusanin now, or something like one," Tan said bitterly.

Iruka felt a sickness, a drawing in. '_Something like'_ – like the animals were. Like a valuable animal, he thought, and felt the brand, hot over his skin. It was worse than when they had bent his hitai-ate. That symbol, at least, could be replaced. _This_ could never be removed. Missing-nin. Traitor. His mind could not accept it.

"It won't be you on trial so much as your ideas. You've been disseminating strange thoughts here, and people have been struggling with them. Now they will challenge you." Tan's mouth opened and then shut, as though he wasn't sure of whether to go on. Finally, he shared, "Shouda is one of your supporters, of course."

An irony. An irony above all ironies.

Listlessly, Iruka's eyes drifted toward the narrow door. He could hear his children faintly. "What will happen to them?" he asked. What would happen to if they decided he was deemed to dangerous to keep around?

"I will look after them," Tan-li promised. And then, as if he could see the will draining out of the teacher's eyes, he growled, leaning close enough that Iruka felt the heat of his breath. He said, "You have changed me, Umino Iruka. Live, and see if you can change others."

* * *

To Iruka, the platform resembled a gallows, only without the arch of wood. It was raised from the ground by two bales of dried grass, putting its occupant head-and-shoulders above the crowd. Like a pillory, Iruka thought bleakly as he was forced upon it. He felt as naked as if he had been pinned by the neck.

He was expected to hold his own weight, a not insignificant task since he felt brittle and unsteady. For days now, he'd alternated between scorching heat and a bone-deep chill, and it made the cool wind uncomfortable against his flushed face. However, he ignored it, as he did all other distractions. Tan-li's voice was still curled up behind his ear: "_Change things_."

It was too big a task for him, but then, this situation had always been too big. Like a shepherd sent in the place of a legend, like a sheep taking the place of a lion. But he had learned a long time ago how to make the most of his little claws. And he would.

The central square of the village was nearly filled. All the shinobi not on essential duty had been recalled, and they stood grimly in attendance. Polarized from this group but still in significant number were the faces known and unknown among the civilian population. They had turned up nearly as one body and now they stood looking at him, displaying a whole range of emotions.

Some souls stood out along the periphery; Tan-li, flanked by his children. An elegant circle of elders, Chi-fu Oyadama. And Shouda.

The chief stepped forward once all had assembled, and the already quiet group fell into an even more complete hush. He looked older than the last time Iruka had seen him – his shoulders sloped as he looked up at the Konoha teacher, injured and ill, and his black eyes were troubled.

Iruka lifted his chin.

"You know why you're here?" Oyadama asked.

"People have been talking about what I've said and what I've done," the teacher answered him. "But it sounds as though you are more on trial than me."

The reminder creased the man's face, but he said nothing further to Iruka. Instead, he turned to his people: "Citizens of Kusagakure. Since the end of the second age when our kage was killed, the limits of our country have been under constant siege. Our food supply is threatened, and our lives are always in danger. We have been near a state of emergency for too long, and it has necessitated martial law. This constant readiness should have made us stronger, but recently rumors began to circulate that other nations had surpassed us, and there was word of a secret weapon in Konoha. This is why Captain Shouda left – to investigate the truth." He gestured with his hand to the platform, and Iruka at its center. He said, "This man is his discovery. Yet some of your have become uneasy with all he has brought with him. Now is the time we will speak about these concerns."

The floor opened with an unbelievably tall shinobi, very dark with close cropped hair. Stepping forward, he rumbled, "The man Shouda was sent to look for was supposed to be a master of the shinobi arts. This," he punctured the air, directly at Iruka's heart. "This is a soft bole of cotton. He's supposed to make soldiers out of our children, but so far all we have watched him do is coddle them. If they are not prepared to join the border cells, they endanger all our lives."

"Yes," another supplemented, and her voice rose, angrier and more shrill than the first. "You've brought this foreigner to train our new shinobi, claiming that you've delivered a legend." She snorted, and had to raise her voice to be heard over Shouda's reactionary growl. "But we're not convinced that he's such a benefit to us. What do we know about this man?"

"We know he is enough of a shinobi that, crippled and weaponless, he killed one of your second-rate perverts in the act of assaulting a child!" Shouda snapped. "You think he's not qualified? Or have Kusa's standards really fallen so far that an ordinary grade-school teacher can kill our shinobi with tent pegs and scraps of cloth!"

Murder stirred the crowd, provoking irate voices, and Iruka felt the world tilt as he thought of his recent bloodletting. Then his eyes found his children. The little girl rubbing her face tearfully against her canvas doll. The pack of skinned-kneed boys with dirty faces. Han, biting his lips so hard they were red. And Ryo-ki, who was wearing a face of impending doom – of the same kind of premature grief that Iruka had first seen in him. It revived the ember that had been burning a slow hole in his stomach since that day on the street when things had first begun to go so terribly wrong. And he wasn't sorry.

He met the children's eyes, trying make his gaze steady and strong. _I wish I could make life more fair for you,' _he thought to them. _ 'But it's not. Oh, it's not.'_

Shouda's stunningly vehement voice bawled out, regaining Iruka's attention. His mind had wandered, but now he heard the words – the argument which went on and on – about him, and about Kusagakure, and about whether things would change or it would eventually fall.

"Our village is crumbling," the captain was all but pleading for them to listen. "How much longer can we keep this up? Already we have too few nin. Look around at our numbers! There are too many adults and too few children. If we keep doing this –keep filling the gaps in our defense with the least able – soon we won't have any replacements. Or a new generation."

"You act as though how you grew up makes you so special, that it makes you such a _champion_," the first shinobi who had spoken sneered. He would ordinarily have been handsome with his freckled face, but the twisted expression of disgust made him fearful. He accused, "Do you think you were the only one who was alone?"

"That's so sad."

Although it was weak and fractured, Iruka's voice carried over the other voices, which had taken on notes of increasing hostility. Now all quieted, and eyes turned toward the pillory. To the Konoha chuunin, soldier, and teacher who swayed there, standing – if not steadily – then at least tall.

The chuunin shook his head somberly. They all spoke such familiar words. "I've been a refugee. And I've been an orphan. It's a position of such vulnerability," he murmured, and saw the way Shouda's dark eyes looked away. "Surely it's taught you that a shinobi should _protect._"

His words seemed to encourage others to speak, and the first civilian stepped forward. Knees trembling, he nonetheless managed to choke out, "Sensei is right! The shinobi steal from us. They threaten our wives and our children. It's wrong!" He appealed to the council of elders, "Why won't you do something about it?"

"Whining cows!" A nin jeered from the crowd. "That you can live your pitiful lives is paid for with our blood! Your duty is to provide, as we defend."

"But you don't defend us!" A woman shouted. "We thought that was the way of things, that the shinobi-civilian relationship was by nature uneven, but Sensei has shown us this is not so. We're tired of being harassed!"

The poles of the crowd were further dividing, unraveling like a tapestry whose wool did not wish to be a part of the frame – but a frame without wool was patternless, and absent any support, the yarn could only fall in a pile. Apart, they were no Hidden Village at all.

"Look at what he's done!" A shinobi raged. His voice broke with near hysteria; "He brings contempt with him, ruin and nonsense and anarchy!"

"No, I've seen it." Shouda intervened. He swept the crowd with his hypnotic eyes. "I've seen Konoha, a place were all the people mix without fear, but there is no chaos. There is peace."

His companions answered him with contempt. "You speak of dreams, Shouda. You've always been a dreamer. But we need soldiers, not dreams. You've gone mad!"

"No, he's right." Once again Iruka's voice carried, clear as water, just as it had so many times carried over the clamor of his classroom. And though he never would have believed he would be defending Shouda, nonetheless he spoke, "I assure you, Konoha sends out soldiers, including her children. But if the struggle for life and death is the only focus – the only role – people forget to be human beings. And a soldier, no matter how powerful, who gives up their humanity makes many compromises." His gaze found Ryo-ki in the crowd. He was holding Han's hand.

"This is what I teach my students in Konoha, and it is what I've been teaching here. Shinobi are always in danger of becoming machines or savages, of forgetting everything else through the haze of blood. But if we allow that to happen, we forsake companionship and family. We forget to play and we forget joy and generosity and community. Even the future is distorted." And he thought of Shouda's drive without purpose or reason. He finished, "I teach growing ninja to be people, and I try to act like one myself. It can be done – I've seen it. I've seen warriors of _true_ legend who would sacrifice their life and reputation for a friend. Bonds of loyalty outside of blood." Tears burned the edge of his lashes, thinking of the ones he might have lost.

Iruka shook his head.

"That's the worst thing about this place. Everyone is only looking out for themselves. You fight against the sword you perceive at your throat, but you're ignoring the true enemy. And you're either going to destroy each other or let another nation of barbarians do it for you."

A penetrating quiet fell over the gathering – long and deep – and Iruka thought he heard someone murmur, "_A prairie fire_," before everything went to hell.

From the midst of the gathering, a single voice rose up in a shriek of anguish and anger, too deep for words. Iruka had time to register a blur of color and then he was being seized from behind and bowed backward. His head rested on someone's shoulder, forced there by an unyielding grip on his chin. It bared the pale, soft skin beneath his throat. Against it a blunt iron edge was turned up, poised to press through his throat and palette and straight into his brain.

'_I'm being assassinated,'_ Iruka thought dully. Oh, for the days when he had been nothing but an insufficiently ambitious academy teacher.

"Keno! What are you doing?" That was Shouda's voice, equal parts demanding and stunned.

Harsh, hissing breaths reverberated in the shell of the teacher's ear, and a sharp chin bore further into his forehead. The distraught former ambassador to Konoha answered, "What I should have done the day he wet my clothes with my partner's blood. What you forbid me to do for the good of the village. Lies!" The man's voice cracked with emotion, and he was shaking. Tears blotted his face; Iruka could hear him sputter on them. "Legend, teacher, savior. Ha! You're a murderer. A murderer, a murderer. You killed him. He was kind to you, that stupid idiot. And you killed him."

Only with difficultly could Iruka swallow around his clinched jaw. He thought, _'It's ironic, I haven't so much as thought of Keno for months, and yet he comes with my death.'_ His eyes flickered closed. _'At least it is a better way to die than suicide. It's right that I should pay for what I truly deserve.'_

"Keno, stop this. You cannot kill him. We need him." Shouda sounded half out of his mind, his desperation matching Keno's hysteria. Whimsically, Iruka reflected, _'So this is what happens when two kinds of insanity meet.'_

"_You're _as much as fault as he is," Keno accused Shouda. "You could think of nothing else but bringing him here. A babysitter for Ri-Tou's life!"

"Keno –" Oyadama tried to intercede, but the Kusanin would have none of it.

"Shut up, shut up!" he squalled, choking on a thick sob. Miserably, he drew Iruka closer, ducking his chin so the hot liquid leaking from his eyes burned down the teacher's neck. His voice veiled with mourning, he murmured, "Ri-Tou. I can't believe…even now." Then his face hardened. His resolve crystallized, he spoke to Iruka, ominously calm and certain. "No," he said, shifting his grip on his weapon. Thick red blood oozed down its pommel as he slowly twisted its pinnacle. "No, you aren't going to stay here."

It required only an instant for Keno to bunch his muscles, preparing to strike – and in that moment, the world rattled to a halt. Not literally; in reality, even Tan had no time to do anything but flinch, faces had no time but to stretch. The chief's body had no time but to seize, rigorous. A drop of blood had enough time to trail down Han's chin. But, for Iruka, there was no wrench of sudden terror. He drew a slow breath and had time to think, '_I'm tired_,' even as the sharp clip of the kunai bit deeper into his throat.

Then, suddenly, a jolt dragged him back, towards chaos and complete disorientation. He felt the _thump_ impacting Keno's body, felt the arms around him clinch, felt the man stiffen and fall. Too weak to resist, he was dragged down with the body, slamming against the boards, and when he lifted his chin he was faced with Keno's lifeless eyes. They were hazel. Past them, Iruka could also see the kunai handle sticking out of his neck. It had severed the man's spinal cord. He had not even known that he died.

The next sensation that he knew was that of being drawn gently up and away from the spreading film of sticky blood. Stout arms were fast around him. "Sensei?" asked a boyish voice that trembled with concern. The arms squeezed. "Hey. You're okay. I've got you."

Iruka could barely form the word, "N-naruto."

The boy laughed, a breathy, teary, desperately happy thing. He embraced Iruka tightly, muttering, "Believe it."

Iruka's hand gravitated to return the unexpected hug, but the orange jumpsuit and warm body remained, solid and real beneath his fingers. Moreover, surrounding the platform stood more of his student – Naruto, a hundred times – effectively separating them from the astonished people of Kusagakure. Feebly, he reached to rub his eyes, but the blond head waggled against his neck, reverberating with a giggle that compressed the older man's heart. "You look confused, Sensei. Didn't you know that we were coming for you?"

"No," Iruka said, still numb. But if Ichi had found them…

"Mysteries for later, Iruka," said a quiet voice that he knew. Kakashi descended on the platform like a dove, grey and with wings.

"Kakashi," the teacher breathed, baring harder into Naruto's strong support. He felt momentarily watery, but somehow he managed a timorous smile. "Another rescue?" he scoffed weakly. "I'm insulted. I was just on the verge of escape, you know."

Between them, the corpse wept, matting the straw with its life blood, and, darkly, the copy-nin answered, "I saw."

It was the sound of metal that reawakened Iruka to the full nature of their situation. A hundred hands drew blades and formed seals – a hundred enemies and many, many more. After all, his rescuers had just lunged head first into a hidden village, absent of all stealth. As deeply formidable as Kakashi and Naruto were, they could not possibly survive the whole army of Kusagakure's forces.

"We've come to take back what is ours," the copy-nin spoke, and his words were absolute. Iruka looked into his eyes – _both_ eyes – and knew that the man did not even see the overwhelming force against him – did not care that he was challenging an army.

Growling, the Kusanin shifted forward, moving to engage him. One coiled his arm, preparing to launch a projectile, but before he could loose his weapon, he was blocked by…the woman who sold potatoes. Her aging father flanked her, hand braced on her shoulder. Brow doubled resolutely, she said, "No."

Naruto's doubles suddenly had company, the ranks filled by people whose houses Iruka had sealed, by those he had comforted and advised. With a snarl, Han took up station at he base of the platform, and Ryo-ki stood just beside him, sober but ready. A shift of straw, and then Iruka was looking up at Tan-li, who had unsheathed his long, long cavalry weapon. Dismayed, Iruka shook his head, "Tan –"

"Hush, Sensei. It's time for us to stand up for our own as we were meant to."

Shinobi stood down, unwilling to fight their own people. Uncertainly, they looked to their leader. But Oyadama wasn't interested in them, his keen eyes fixed intently on the sudden arrivals, and on his own people – his cattle drivers and merchants and farmers and craftsmen. On his ANBU, on their children.

Slowly, he nodded, approaching them so that he could address the stiff, silver-haired soldier perched like wraith. "He has been a moving force in this place – like a fire," he repeated the words now with as much awe as before. "But. But I think perhaps the only way we can make anything from what he said is on our own." He met Iruka's eyes. "You've made a bold statement today," he said, and then he looked to his council. They were all resolute. "We will listen."

Naruto helped him his teacher climb to his feet. When his vision cleared, Iruka looked to the stained straw, and to the lifeless body. He said to the chief, "I'm truly sorry."

For Keno, and for Ri-Tou. For all that had to be sacrifice to get them here.

"I am also," Oyadama sighed, but then he reached out unexpectedly, caressing Han's head. The child looked at him curiously, but the old man just smiled at him with a tender expression. He told Iruka, "You've done us a great service, Sensei, though I regret what it has cost you." He must have sensed the surge of anger in the two Konoha shinobi who flanked him, because he looked up and promised sincerely, "But at least we will see you home now."

"_NO!"_

Shouda's outburst shattered the quiet like a gunshot as the man flailed through the crowd.

* * *

Next Chapter: Shouda doesn't stand a chance.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

* * *

It had been so incredibly foolish storming in as they had, but when the knife had gone to Iruka's throat, Kakashi had the kunai out of its pouch before his captor even had time to devolve into tears. And while it should have concerned him – this increasing lack of control, these instinct-driven, emotional reactions – for the moment, he could not care. Iruka hadn't died.

He'd even been coherent enough – whole enough – to initiate a joke. But it had soured Kakashi's stomach thinking of how close it had been, and he was glad Naruto was there to put his arms around Iruka and hold him upright, because in that moment there was nothing safe between his hands.

So he concentrated on making his fury a cold, whetted blade and not a rage that trashed without direction and got them all killed. Such careful focus allowed him to ignore how damaged Iruka was. To ignore his pallor, and the thinness of his neck under that dirty, foreign shirt. The hang – exhaustion – and the mess that was his leg. His throat, streaked red.

He'd made his assertion, his claim: "We've come to take back what is ours."

He meant it with his whole body, with every muscle and heart beat and drop of sweat. Ready and willing to bloody this land and all its people. He spoken as someone who'd spent the last two months sleeping in fits and uneasy starts because he was so strained with worry and shame. Who had spent the last two days imaging what _'hurt'_ mean. Fear; he had rarely tasted it so bitterly, and it had transformed him into something nearly as zealous as Shouda.

They mirrored each other now.

"No!" the captain had shouted, pushing through the gathered villagers. "No, you cannot take him!"

Iruka involuntarily recoiled at the sound of his ranting, and Kakashi's teeth clinched. Shouda's voice went through him like a circuit, bringing to the surface all of the anger he had felt from the moment he realized that he'd been lied to. That Iruka was gone while he fretted over imaginary enemies. That he'd suffered here alone for so long. That he'd been hurt; because Iruka didn't flinch away from much.

"Captain –" An old man raised his voice to chastise his villager, but Kakashi did not want to hear it. To his mind, even if this leader had not sanctioned Shouda's actions… Two months. For two months he had gone along with this and not sent Iruka home, and there could be no forgiveness for that, and no more chances to make it right now.

Shouda was practically frothing. "He cannot leave. He belongs to Kusagakure."

"He is Konoha, you confused bastard," Kakashi retorted, fingers itching to permanently silence him. "He has been and will be. You've committed an international crime."

The former ambassador growled, and there was none of the sly composure that he had demonstrated during their last encounter on the night of the festival. He looked and acted like a man torn open by what he'd tried to do, wholly eaten by what drove him – deluded by his own machinations. He told Kakashi, "I only told you what was easiest for you to hear, just as I did with your kage. You did not appreciate or deserve him. I _rescued_ him."

"You tangler of lies," the copy-nin hissed. "You kidnapped him."

"No, I saved him," Shouda said, and what was most incredible was how earnest he was. He _believed_ himself. "Iruka," he appealed, "Iruka, tell them what I did. Tell them about the children and the prairie and the sickness here. Tell them I was right about how much we need you."

Kakashi knew the expression on Iruka's face; it was pity. Nonetheless, he shook his head. "Shouda, I belong in Konoha. I was happy there. You didn't save me."

A ragged, inarticulate cry of frustration tore from the captain's throat. His voice cracked as he insisted, "No! You don't belong to them. You belong here! _The mark is on your shoulder!_"

At his remark, Iruka shuddered, his hand darted to the mottled yellow spot marring the front of his rough, cotton shirt. The reaction made Kakashi sick to his guts, incredulous, furious. He did not want to know what Shouda meant if it could cause such a visceral reaction in Iruka – strong, steady Iruka.

Instead, he laid down his very last word, a warning, a challenge: "I'm taking him home."

Shouda bristled with killing intent. Attrition-bent eyes bore past him and serrated the weakened teacher with the kind of intent that ruined. "I won't let you," he swore. "Ungrateful traitor. You will not go back there, no. Not even if I have to kill you first."

They were absolutely the wrong words, for in that moment, Kakashi would have attempted to kill his own kage for calling Iruka a traitor. And to threaten his life…

Months of ranging had made Kakashi lean and had honed his instincts to the sharpness of a wolf's teeth. Though only a short time ago he might have faced this captain of Kusagakure with the outcome unknown, now the copy-nin – the sharingan killer of a thousand jutsus – had shed too much of his professionalism, his compassion, his patience, his restraint. And this crazed, uncontrolled abductor was no match for him.

It was improbable that Shouda even saw him coil his limbs before he launched himself at the man. Through the crowd of still-life portraits – of brown on brown – Kakashi flickered like a silver-white ghost. He was an apocalypse, the whistle of coming death. He could _smell_ Shouda's heartbeat as his fingers, sparkling, found the soft ridge between the fourth and fifth ribs, all his momentum and energy prepared to puncture –

"_Kakashi!"_

One voice. There was one voice that could have stayed his hand. Feeling the nails of his fingers flush against his enemy's breast, an inch from taking his mortal life, he gritted his teeth.

Iruka pleaded with him, "Please, Kakashi. I don't want another body."

He should still have killed Shouda. He _longed _to kill him. Then he looked with disgust into the bulging eyes, the panting mouth, and he withdrew his arm. To Shouda, he intimated, "He's too merciful, even for Konoha. Be thankful for that today."

Then he turned his back and strode back to his people – to Iruka and Naruto – through a crowd that parted for him like water. It was a matter for the Godaime and the leader of Kusagakre now.

The old man was frowning sorrowfully as he gave his final order: "Arrest Captain Shouda."

It broke whatever remained of the man. Thick, hot tears wetted Shouda's dark face, and he ranted as he was taken up by his own people: "I saved him. You'll never leave – no. You can't, you're bound here, marked – Sensei! Sensei, rescue us, _rescue me!_"

The tall shinobi with the strange half-mask stooped, warning them, "You know that he'll only be censured. Our leaders went along with this."

Iruka leaned further into Naruto's strong support. "That's a decision for a greater power than mine," he said, and sighed. "And with that, I'm content."

Concerned, Naruto twisted around, pressing his hand against his teacher's face. "You're burning up, Sensei."

"I may have a little fever," he admitted, sounding unconcerned. And though he was still surrounded by grass, his sinuses still congested, his bones still broken – at least the tepid brown eyes that had so frightened Kakashi were gone, filled to the brim with waves once more.

"Hey," the copy-nin greeted him, reaching out to clasp his shoulder, frowning when he felt the heat.

"Hey," Iruka smiled hazily. "You saved me."

It was difficult to respond with humor when you were still reeling so profoundly with gratitude that you couldn't stop you hands from shaking. Still, Kakashi managed. "It was an afterthought," he assured. "I didn't have anything better to do today."

Iruka chuckled hoarsely. "Of course. I'd have hated to disrupt your schedule," he murmured, and his eyes dimmed. He was wavering too, though Naruto was still holding much of his weight.

"Iruka?" Kakashi asked, alarmed.

"He's going to pass out," the strange warrior said. Right before the teacher crumbled.

* * *

It had been funny to wake up to two masked faces, one cowled to cover his mouth, the other with eyes shielded by porcelain. Only one eye had blinked between them, and Iruka hadn't been able to stifle a giggle. Of course, that had only convinced them that he was out of his mind, and resulted in a through checkup that had been both unnecessary and embarrassing.

"I'm fine," he'd insisted when he could manage two words together without seeing white splotches. In fact, he hurt less than he had in nearly two months.

"A questionable description even under usual circumstances," Kakashi teased him once they were alone. "They couldn't heal your knee. We'll have to wait for Tsunade to try." There was worry hovering secretively under the lone dark eye, but Iruka knew enough about the underneath now that he could see it. Kakashi was worried that help would be too late, that he would be permanently disabled. But Iruka was, by now, familiar with this fear, and so it did not trouble him as much as it once had.

"Whatever happens, I'll manage. I'm more concerned about being accepted back."

"Because of this?" Kakashi placed his hand carefully over the thick padding which covered Iruka's collar. Traces of rage were still present in the lines of his face. The wound made by the burn had grown raw and ugly. They'd had to pull bits of fabric away from the livid red welts in the shape of a zigzag, the symbol of Kusagakure. It had rutted his whole collarbone, deep and wide. The brand had been meant for a horse, the villagers had explained; that's why is was so large. It had never been intended to be used on a human being. When Kakashi had first seen it, it had taken three men to keep him from killing Shouda.

Feeling the pressure over the mark brought melancholy to Iruka's heart. He admitted, "That's part of it. But there were also rumors. Am I a missing nin?"

Kakashi's face hardened. "No. Oyadama has already sent a communication confirming it." Then he grinned wryly. "What she will do with Naruto and I, however…"

"You left for me." Iruka's voice still held a quality of wonder, even after he'd heard their story over and again, separately and together. "You left. And he did."

He spoke of Naruto, who was currently scuffling around outside, trailed by the starstruck children as though he were a superhero. He and Han had gotten along famously from the beginning, much to Ryo-ki's continued annoyance.

Kakashi followed his eyes, tuning into the sounds of squabbling and play and laughter. Naruto's voice stood out like a bell among them – among Iruka's orphans. Kakashi shared, "He told me that nothing was as important to him as you are. Not even his dream."

"Or his loyalty," Iruka added, and sighed. "It's not very like a shinobi."

A grin possessed Kakashi's lips even hearing those words come out of this man's mouth. "You're a terrible influence," he accused, but when even that jab did not ease the compressed look on Iruka's face, he promised, "Iruka, we will handle the cost, whatever it might be. Naruto suspects that it was all politics anyway. That she meant for us to come from the beginning."

The teacher reclined, chuckling. "Ah, subterfuge. That, at least, sounds like the way of the ninja."

"And Tsunade is a very good ninja," Kakashi agreed. Then, "We're with you, Sensei. Whatever."

Whatever, even if that meant disability or exile. In rebuke, in loss. Even if they would be fugitives together. But hadn't Iruka thought that from the beginning, when half out of his mind he had kept repeating, '_He's coming for me_.'

Fondness made Iruka warm, and so grateful that it made his hands tremble. To hide them, he shoved them under his armpits and ducked his face. "This is so embarrassing," he murmured.

Kakashi laughed.

* * *

It was a day for goodbyes. Iruka remembered clearly the first time he had seen this sky, going on forever. He wondered if he would miss it when the panorama was swallowed by trees. If he would forget the sway and smell of grass, and its amalgamation of voices. There would certainly be some things he missed.

Tearful faces pressed close, and Iruka knelt, opening his arms to accept the attack from all sides. Squeezed between them, he brushed bangs and granted kisses one after another. A little girl clung, her doll squished between them as she cried, "Don't gooo" – a plea that was echoed on all sides.

But the teacher pushed her gently back and petted her cheek. "I'm going back to where I belong, sweetheart. But don't be afraid. You won't be alone anymore." Hovering near was Tan-li, Ryo-ki, Han. He assured her, "You're going to look out for each other."

A gesture brought the bigger boys near, side by side. Ryo-ki's eyes were misty, though he deliberately swiped at his nose, sniffing snottily. "We'll take care of them, Sensei," he swore. But then his lower lips trembled and he threw himself at his teacher.

Iruka accepted the brief, greedy hug, rubbing his back. "I know you will, Ryo-ki," he said confidently. "Will _you_ be alright, though?

There was a snuffly little sound, and a nod against his neck. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

Han nuzzled Iruka's cheek when given his turn, much as he had on their first day together. Iruka gave him a stern look. "Be good, now, you hear me. No eating people," he commanded, and the child deliberately revealed his bright, sharp teeth. Iruka rubbed both of their heads, drawing them under his arms. "When you boys get big, come visit me. I'm looking forward to seeing how you've grown."

It had seemed like such a short time since Kakashi and Naruto had come to rescue him – and shorter still since the missive had arrived from Konoha in Tsunade's sharp, eclectic hand: "Get your butts home as soon as you're clear to travel," it had said. And it had relieved Iruka's mind incredibly. He had not exiled his friends. They were all going home.

When the teacher limped up beside them, Tan and Kakashi were saying a cordial farewell. They'd made fast friends once they'd stopped growling at each other over Iruka's sick bed. To his annoyance, the ANBU mussed his hair when he was close enough. "Sensei," he said, smiling easily. "How quickly this day has come. I had wished… Well."

Iruka knew. And he was grateful that, however much Tan would have liked for him to stay, he would never consider holding him here against his will. "I'll miss you too, Tan. Thank you for everything."

That, when nothing else had, managed to tear away the jounin's resolute smile. He shook his head incredulously. "That you can say 'thank you.' That you can even say such words." His lips grew tight, and he reached out to clasp Iruka's arm in a warrior's handshake. He said, "I'm very honored to have met you, Umino Iruka."

"Take care of my kids," Iruka said in return. Because Tan-li would. He would.

Naruto, meanwhile, was also saying goodbye. He wrung Chi-fu Oyadama's hand enthusiastically as he declared, "Don't forget Uzumaki Naruto, the future Hokage!" He didn't notice or understand the hope in the old man's eyes hearing those words, or the tears. Even Iruka only suspected, observing in these last days how the chief had been dotting on Han.

He bid farewell to Iruka as they made their final departure, his voice grave and indebted. "Sensei, you are a man worthy of your legend. Thank you," Oyadama said, and the citizens of Kusagakure – the dozens and dozens who had shown up around the gate to press his hand and whisper thanks – echoed him, nodding. Thank you.

Iruka still hardly knew what to do with such praise. He was a chuunin grade-school teacher who had been abducted from his village in broad daylight, who had then failed to escape three separate times, and who now walked, barely upright – still an orphan, a former fugitive – nothing-special Umino Iruka. He still had no miracles. Still boggled that word of him had ever been blown so wildly out of proportion. But for whatever service he was able to perform for the good these people and for his children…well, he was glad.

With help, Iruka mounted the little painted pony who would be accompanying them back to Konoha since Iruka still could not walk far. The teacher patted the beast's broad side, and she neighed, turning around to huff in his face. She stomped her hoof impatiently.

"Ready, Iruka?" Kakashi asked.

Iruka surveyed the domed village in the sea of grass, nested like a mirage that would soon fade. Familiar faces looked after him, hands large and small waved. He waved back, and then inhaled deeply. Only to sneeze.

Naruto giggled at the way he grimaced. "Now, Sensei?"

"Ugh," the teacher muttered, rubbing his nose. "Yes. Let's go home."

* * *

Lady Tsunade wrinkled her nose with disgust as she leaned over the academy teacher's knee. It was swollen even now, though she had been prodding at it for what felt like ages. "What an incredible mess you've made. What do you expect me to do with this?"

"You can't fix it?" Iruka asked, learning back against the hospital bed and fighting not to tense up. There wasn't much pain thanks to her chakra-infused touch, but their energy wasn't compatible, and so it remained uncomfortable and invasive.

The Hokage answered, "Not completely, no. But, with surgery, you'll walk again. Even run and fall out of trees. Not terribly gracefully, mind you, but you never were particularly elegant."

Her face was bent over his injury and so Iruka indulged himself in a private eye roll. "Thank you, Tsunade-sama."

"At least you're being sensible about all this. Kakashi has thrown three separate fits. And that's not to say anything of Naruto and half the village."

"Mm," the teacher reflected. "It's so burdensome to be popular. I was almost assassinated, you know."

"Assassinated," Tsunade snorted. "Well, I hope it was a lesson to you. Though you might have done better with a spanking." She gave his knee once last experimental nudge, then sighed. "Try to be more conventional from now on, if you please."

She didn't mean it. If it had been an order, she wouldn't have said please. However, her mention of Naruto and Kakashi took his mind to a different place, and he murmured quietly, "Thank you for not punishing them."

"Not punished? I'll have you know, I made Naruto peel a week's worth of vegetables yesterday, and Kakashi is in my kitchen scrubbing sake bottles for recycling." She cackled evilly. "Just wait until they go for a mission. I'm going to have them watering daisies and scrubbing toilet bowels for weeks."

Still, Iruka pressed, "You know what I mean."

She responded in kind, sobriety breaking briefly through the obscuring fog. She told him, "Sometimes a leader cannot stretch her wings. But that doesn't mean she does not care." Then, just as quickly, the clouds shifted once more, and she slapped his thigh, making him flinch. "Now, you move _one inch_ before I tell you you're able and I'll be forced to rethink that corporal punishment option."

"Ooh, kinky, Tsunade-sama." Another voice intervened from the proximity of the window. Kakashi crouched at the sill, leaping lightly through it and into the room.

"Brat!" the Godaime censured. "You better not be here to agitate my patient."

The jounin looked grossly offended. "Of course not. I brought him a pineapple," he said, and presented the fruit grandly.

Iruka was being swallowed in a comfortable, familiar bubble of insanity and reclined, relaxing. A fact that did not go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed healer, because she crossed her arms. "Hm. Well, you don't seem to be doing any harm," she admitted, and headed toward the hallway. "But I'm watching, Kakashi."

The copy-nin stuck his tongue out at her as soon as the door was closed.

"Very mature," Iruka snorted.

They settled comfortably after that, the chuunin against the headboard and the jounin lounging at the bed's foot, propped against the wall. Kakashi lured with gossip and Iruka fussed. Mostly, through, they were just quiet. Kakashi cut the pineapple he had brought into bits with his kunai.

"This is your last rescue," Kakashi said. "I'm tired of visiting you in the hospital."

"Fine," Iruka huffed, crossing his arms. "Next time _you_ can get injured and _I'll_ bring you bizarre gifts for your convalescence."

Kakashi deliberately bit down on an especially large chunk, munching obnoxiously. He'd missed not have having to worry about the mask; fruit was so sticky. Once he'd swallowed, he remarked, "Pineapple has lots of vitamins, you know. I read about it."

"Surely not in your regular reading material."

"No. Not that Jiraiya isn't really creative with fruit," the jounin murmured contemplatively.

Iruka clapped his hands over his ears. "Gah! I don't' want to hear any of that nonsense."

A lull followed, companionable. They sat, resting in one another's familiar presence. And Iruka reflected that they had come a long, long way. From near animosity, to uncertainty in the wilderness. Through torture and rain. Through endless miles of grass and their own village politics.

"We're lucky," he said suddenly into the silence. The single eye titled toward him, reading his meaning. To be alive. To be together.

He nodded, answering, "Yes, we really are."


	27. Bonus Material

**Mythos of a Shepherd (Bonus Material)**

As sometimes happens in the midst of writing such a long story, I ended up with quite a lot of material that just didn't make it in for one reason or another. In this case, that material eventually became the encore edition of "Mythos" which totaled in an extra 47 pages before all was said and done. Below are some notes and additions about the process of creating this story, as well as about the trilogy that began with "Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart."

I present to you, "Mythos of a Shepherd" Bonus Features!

* * *

**The Vessel Trilogy**

Author's Note:I had no intention of creating a series when I began working on "Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart." In fact, I did not intend for it to be longer than a few pages. However, the scene when Kakashi interacts with Iruka's clones and first announces that Iruka is "weird" went all out of proportion and, thereafter, the goal became to make Iruka and Kakashi workable friends.

The three stories in the trilogy are, in order:

1). "Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart"

2). "Flesh and Feelings"

3). "Mythos of a Shepherd"

There is also a bonus story, if you will, which I framed within this universe. It's called "The Face of the Enemy", and it takes place after "Mythos of a Shepherd".

Technically, all the stories that I've written in "Ripples in an Ocean" could be considered compatible, since long before I got the courage to write about Iruka's background, I hinted. However, for interested parties, those which might be considered directly related to this series include chapters:

Loyal Unto Slaughter

Old Friends

The Jungle

Professional Curiosity

Brilliant Failure

Elementary

Living Takes Wanting

* * *

**Trivia:** Some things you might not have known about the making of this story!

~ Captain Shouda was originally a woman.

_The first part I wrote was the scene where Shouda ambushes Iruka's students and the conversation they have afterwards. "She" was intended to be a humorous character in a one-shot for the "Ripples in an Ocean" theme – legend. Somewhere half-way through, though, the gender pronouns shifted and later the captain become a much more deleterious character._

~ The first draft of the story had no civilians.

_The first draft of this story did not include any input from the civilians of Konoha, as they really aren't necessary to the plot. They were added spontaneously, hopefully to the approval of readers! The civilians of Kusagakure were more deliberate since they built on the ideas already introduced about the duel nature of a shinobi village._

~ The butterfly poem that Iruka recites in chapter 11 _is_ an original, and almost didn't make it into the story.

_Actually, all the poetry in the three stories is original. I'm not much of poet, and I do most of my (very fickle) composing dimly conscious while brushing my teeth in the morning. For this reason, the stubborn butterfly poem very nearly missed the deadline for the chapter post. Iruka's war poem in chapter 23 was also a last minute addition._

~ In the later stages, Captain Shouda was designed as a foil for Kakashi.

_If you read carefully, there are numerous references and even key plot points that make references to the two sharing characteristics. Did you notice?_

~ Tan-li (who became quite popular) was the first Kusanin created outside of the original ambassadors.

_The scene where Iruka and Tan drink tea was one of the first parts of the encore that I wrote, even before I seriously considered continuing this story. At that time, I had not yet decided that Iruka would be crippled by Shouda and the early drafts all had to be completely reworked once I realized how essential that would be to the plot._

_As a note of interest, Tan-li also did not have his half-mask from the beginning. It was a modification when I wrote the grasshopper scene and realized that it would be hard to munch an insect without a mouth (grins). At the time, I considered cutting the foraging out, but ultimately I decided that Tan-li's "yum" was too essential to the development of his character._

~ Kusagakure was built from the ground up – so don't believe anything that I say!

_When I went looking, I found almost no information available on Kusagakure other than it was possible there was grass there and that they had once had a kage. Since I was planning on keeping the action in Konoha at the time, this did not faze me. Later, I was forced to manufacture a setting. For this purpose, I borrowed from various plains cultures the world over, generously mixing, abridging, and curtailing. For all I know, the cannon Kusanin live in brick houses, so don't expect the "Mythos" village to match the manga!_

~ A few people have commented on "my version" of Iruka.

_It's true that there is some controversy about just what kind of nature Iruka really has - what part of him is a shinobi and what part is a teacher. I try hard to keep the balance between the two, but I admit I have a special interest in the part that is a caretaker. He is just so very human with his fretfulness and temper._

_And while I like to ruminate on the Iruka that wields metal in dark places, this will always be my favorite image of Iruka: _ albums/v738/swiss_kun/n_ (unfortunately, reproduced without permission).

* * *

**The Name Game:** When I need character names, I don't draw directly from the Japanese, because sometimes they just don't sound like proper names. However, I usually do start there as a base. For your entertainment, here were the basic derivatives for the characters of "Mythos":

~ Shouda

I wanted the Kusanin to have names reminiscent of objects in grasslands, but nothing seemed to fit for this important character. Eventually I hit on _shouga_, which means "ginger" in Japanese. A little tweak and voila.

~ Ri-Tou

One of the rare perfect names. In Japanese, _ri-to_ means "reed." I found the hyphen to be appealing, and later would use it again to give some solidarity to the names of the various inhabitants of Kusagakure.

~ Keno Uma

My attempt to find "mane" failed, leading me to try _ke no uma_ which, loosely taken and rearranged, might be mean "hair of horse." This is similar to the way Umino Iruka is taken from _umi no iruka_ or "dolphin of the sea."

~ Chi-fu Oyadama

Actually quite redundant. _Chi-fu_ is, of course, a Japanese derivation of the English word "chief," while _oyadama _literally means "boss" or "chief."

~ Tan-li

This name came more because I liked the sound than anything else. _Tane_ means "seed", and when I started saying it out loud, the "li" just trailed behind it spontaneously.

~ Ryo-ki

Comes from _r__youiki, _which means "field." Another easy pick, though you can see how I changed the word to create something that sounded both more like a name and more like a Kusa inhabitant.

~ Han

I wanted something simple for this little guy, and so I took his name from _ha_, which means "tooth" and added a letter. As a reviewer once pointed out, _han_ also means "half" in Japanese, which fits his heredity very well.

* * *

**The Title:** Normally, I don't offer explanations about titles – I figure they're more like poetry; up for interpretation, and better left without too much analysis. However, I'm going to make an exception.

"Mythos of a Shepherd" has more than one meaning – for one, it's Iruka's mythos, his history and combination of tales. In fact, _"Ripples in an Ocean"_ is all part of my Iruka mythos. However, I also had the 'Shepherd' mythos in mind, which was influenced by one of the most beautiful descriptions I've ever heard of the role of a shepherd, from Isaiah 40. Something interesting to think about when reading my take on Iruka as Konoha's shepherd:

"_He tends his flock like a shepherd:_

_He gathers the lambs in his arms_

_and carries them close to his heart;_

_he gently leads those that have young."_

* * *

_That's it! I'm sorry to be so chatty; I have this sneaking suspicion that nobody cares about the "construction" of stories but their writers. Still, I hope that you weren't too bored and that the extra material was worth reading. Thank you one final time for your readership._

_Take care, Swiss._


	28. Alternate Ending

Author's Note: For those of you that aren't aware, "Mythos of a Shepherd" used to have an entirely different ending. It was only due to the meddling of a couple of well-meaning reviewers that Iruka was carried away to the Land of Grass. This is the original version, which I've included in full even though it contains a few overlapping scenes. It begins just after chapter 8 of the published edition.

**Alternate Ending**

**Chapter 9**

* * *

In Asuma's opinion, Konohamaru had the loudest, most sullen mope of anyone he knew. His nephew (no longer such a little brat anymore) had been skulking around with his arms tucked in and chin drooping for days now, and seeing the mood persist in spite of the night's festivities, Asuma began to feel genuinely concerned.

"So," he began as he seated himself on the low porch outside the main house. He ran his hand through Konohamaru's unruly thatch of hair, fully expecting the predictable squall of protest – 'Not a baby!' Instead, the young man leaned into his palm without a word.

It was then that Asuma began taking this melancholy quite seriously. Because, sure, the little ankle-biter was annoying at times, but he was his sister's son, and he loved the brat like anything. It would take something quite significant to knock the rambunctious energy out of Konohamaru.

Shifting, he drew his nephew closer under a heavy arm. "Hey," he asked gruffly. "What's wrong with you?"

They were the most mournful eyes he'd ever seen. "Someone's gonna take away Iruka-sensei," Konohamaru snuffled.

Asuma had to struggle with this news for a moment before he was able to respond. "Iruka. Why would anyone bother with him?"

A child's wrath was brilliant when it flared. Snot still dripping down his face, Konohamaru sputtered, "You're all so stupid! Nobody believes in Sensei at all, but even the Kusanin know he's special and they're going to take him away! Maybe they already have."

Asuma frowned. He was a straightforward man, however, and that was how he answered – with a little anger of his own. "First of all, brat, I don't want you going on like I don't care about Iruka."

Iruka had been practically an extended family member in the years his father had been alive, and since then he'd done more to bolster the morale of Asuma's comrades that any number of counselors or stoic ninja philosophers ever had. Iruka was behind the stability of dozens of warriors whom he'd dragged back into real life or out to lunch. Human with his smiles and gestures and friendly inquires. Yes, they all thought well of Iruka.

Asuma finished, "Second of all, what is this nonsense about him being taken away?"

"The Kusanin told me that they would," the boy confided. "He said it like a joke, but it wasn't a joke. And Iruka wasn't here to help us at the parade tonight. Even though Udon and Moegi said they saw him."

Asuma considered. Rumors resurfaced in his memory, suddenly relevant among the vapor of other facts: of restlessness among the civilians, murmurs in the mission room, and from half a dozen other sources. Idle complaints, he'd thought. But this…

"Uncle, please," Konohamaru tugged on his dark kimono. "We have to do something."

* * *

After passing what remained of the night in a restless sleep, it was nonetheless by the earliest yellow light that Iruka sat up and stubbornly resolved to go about his day as he usually would. When they had parted some hours ago, Kakashi had sworn to him that he would speak to the Hokage about the Kusanin and their threats. But for now – for now, everything was as it had been. He was still a teacher, and still a Konoha shinobi of good standing.

So he got up and tied back his hair, and – because it wasn't a weekday – prepared what he needed for a morning spent tutoring some of the village's youngest children. They met him cheerfully when he entered, and his hands lingered over their heads perhaps a little longer than usual. He soaked in their sweet, dimpled grins and determined, squinty-eyed faces as they leaned over their course work, wondering…wondering if he had much longer to enjoy this.

A crumpled paper was forced into his fist, and hopeful eyes blinked. The toddler lisped, "Ru-ka, lookit."

The chuunin smiled at the crude drawing of the winged insect, mirrored by an even less distinguishable symbol trailing down the side. He laughed, tracing the picture with his finger. "It's very good," he praised, and drew the child up beside him on the bench so he could guide the tiny hand once more through the symbol strokes, twice. "Butterfly."

"Budderfry," the baby grinned proudly. She marked it again and again.

Iruka loved being a teacher.

The end of the session came too soon, as parents came to collect their children for lunch. Distracted with the ache of watching them go, Iruka didn't notice the way the adults' hands lingered on his arm, or the way their looks caught on his downcast face. He didn't notice their worry, and he didn't know what word they spread upon leaving. All he knew was that he was sad, and almost sick with it.

Finally, only one of his charges remained, young Kouichi whose father was a widower and wasn't able to pick him up. Happily, the little boy extended his hand when the teacher had finished gathering his belongings. "Ready now!" he crowed, clinging to Iruka's fingers.

The walk home was uneventful. It was only as they reached the front of the child's house that events shifted. In the space of a heartbeat, the pavement around them filled, and suddenly Ri-Tou the giant loomed behind him once again.

"Captain Shouda," Iruka greeted him formally, his hand creeping protectively over his charge's head. "I'd hoped not to see you again while you were still breathing."

"That's cold, sensei," the ambassador shook his head solemnly. "And after all the effort I've made for your benefit."

The fierce little ball of defiance that had always dwelt in Iruka easily batted away notions of acquiescence and common sense. It took the form of sarcasm. "By working for my benefit do you mean harassing me, illegally seizing my private records and threatening to disclose them, or menacing me and my children?"

Shouda frowned. "I've already told you that seeking your records was directly correspondent to my mission. I regret the hostility you're showing, Iruka. I'd hoped we could be very good friends."

His cool, detached demeanor was as unsettling now as it had been the night of the festival. Involuntarily, the teacher felt his nerves jangle, twisting in a shiver all up and down his spine. All Iruka could see in this man was _drive_. And driven men were a narrow foot-path crossing away from crazed.

"Sensei…" A whine. Kouichi's paws were white. Barely two, he couldn't possibly understand the subtle menace pressed between the words exchanged here, but he _felt_ as well as any instinct-driven creature, and he was afraid. He rubbed his nose against his guardian, seeking comfort.

The ambassador looked down on him. "Smart little boys would know to be quiet," he warned, and the baby pressed his face even more firmly into his teacher's leg.

Iruka had to grit his teeth hard not to physically attack the man, keenly aware of the sharp little fingers digging into his side, the soft head under the heel of his palm. With careful control, he demanded, "Let him go back to his father."

Ri-Tou stepped closer, so near that Iruka could feel the toes of the man's sandals against his heels. And then Iruka felt he nip of sharp pain between a ridge of his vertebrae. His leader said, "Yes, he may go now." He looked around the bright, full neighborhood. It was no place for a violent struggle at knife-point. "He's served his purpose."

Iruka spoke softly to the boy, using his most calming voice. "Kouichi, let go of me now. Are you listening? It's time for you to go inside."

The toddler looked up at him, expression bereft. Children always knew more than reason could explain. "Come too," he insisted, but his teacher gravely shook his head.

"I can't, little one. I have to talk to these men now. You'll have to tell your papa 'hi' for me, okay?"

A crawling up, fretful whine of pure panic rose, but Iruka's firm expression was able to do what entreaties could not. The child reluctantly let go and, with encouragement, turned and waddled haltingly into his house. Iruka waited until they were completely alone before, face twisting, he demanded, "Have you sufficiently feed your ego on a little child's fear?"

"That was not about ego, Sensei," Shouda denied. "Only practicality. I don't want a scene. But we've come to the end of all things. You're coming with us to Kusagakure."

"Like hell I am," Iruka snapped, only to jump as Ri-Tou's knife tip scraped over the thinly covered bone. An unmistakable warning. Paralysis was worse than death in the shinobi world.

"This doesn't have to be hard, Sensei," Shouda said, even as the pinnacle of the tyrannous blade bore more deeply into the hollow of his back. "I've seen every record on you in this village. And if any doubt remained, my visit with your Hokage cleared it. You're not valued here. Think of how good a fresh start could be. You'll be needed in Kusagakure. Respected."

"Respect," Iruka hissed, low between his teeth. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that.

"You wouldn't have to be a prisoner." The captain took a step forward, near enough that he was looking down at the chuunin's face. Iruka tried to draw back, but the kunai was still there, biting through his shirt. There wasn't even a hair of backward space for him to move into.

Shouda requested, "Come with us willingly, Sensei. Walk out of this place. If I have to, I will carry you to my country dangling over my saddle. But I don't want to do that to you. It would be a bad start."

Iruka refused to look at him. Impotent anger rolled in his stomach. "You're a deceiver and a fiend," he accused. "You've been planning this from the beginning, even as you sat across from me in my house telling me of your past. Even as you warned my friend to beware of other shinobi villages."

"It was a truth bred with a lie. But I'm not lying now," the Kusanin captain said. His eyes sparked, a little fey. "I'm going to save my people by rescuing you."

"You're delusional if you would kidnap me and call it a rescue!" Iruka was unable to contain his indignation any longer. Only Ri-Tou snatching his arm and bending him over the blade kept the chuunin from doing something foolish.

"I should strike you," Shouda told the chuunin frankly after a contemplative moment. The charcoal pits where his eyes had been were dried out like smoking tender, ever threatening to flare. He warned, "My country isn't so kind as yours, Sensei. You won't like it if you choose to go as a prisoner. But I'm going to give you a chance to learn that before you test yourself against less merciful men."

And with that he turned his rigid back, gesturing to his men. "Let's go."

* * *

As with most protected places, getting out proved easier than getting in. Even with an intensely reluctant party, they managed to pass outside the wall where the forest was deepest. Carefully, they made their way, until the soft whiney of a horse reached Shouda's ear, followed by a distant hoof-beat on the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Almost feverishly, Shouda smiled. Home, as he'd planned. Home, with the teacher they needed. Home, with the shepherd.

His gaze raked over the man upon whom his hopes rested, seeing the lines of resistance all through his stiff, unwilling body. Ri-Tou had already had to be tough with him, had already had to leave marks on him. And he would attempt to escape if he could, might even try to kill himself. Maybe.

The captain pressed his lips together. It didn't matter. He forced images to the front of his mind, of the way Iruka's face would transform when he stepped among the grass of his homeland and was escorted among the dwellings, overflowing with people. They'd touch his face, and the children would crowd his knees and he'd realize, then, that what Shouda was doing was right. He'd stop struggling then.

All Shouda had to do was make sure the teacher got there. Everything else, he convinced himself, would come with time.

They'd just reached the clearing where they'd moved the horses. There was a fretful putter as one of the animals blew through its lips, tugging at its reigns. "Easy," Keno reached to calm the animal, though his own expression was uneasy. He said, "Something's wrong. They're spooked. Captain –"

He didn't have time to finish his warning. The trees – the trees that guarded Konoha and made it a land of multiple dimensions – flowered, sprouting people that dropped down and stepped out from every angle. Shouda's men reacted instinctively, moving to defend them, but by then they were overwhelmingly surrounded.

A cry fell out of Ri-Tou's mouth as the kunai he'd been holding at Iruka's back dropped nerveless from his fingers. His captain saw the long thin barb punched neatly through the bundle of nerves at his wrist, and then the slow ooze of blood. He looked up into the cold, flat expression of the guard who had escorted them through the gates on their first day – Genma. He no longer had a senbon clinched between his teeth – presumably it was protruding from his subordinates arm – but he had several others spaced between his fingers. And his was only one of the ring of grim faces.

Incredulous, the Shouda's eyes ranged over them, recognizing shinobi of all ranks, teachers he'd observed, and dozens of young people of varying ages. He even saw the hard eyes of several women and brawny men – civilians. Civilians among that circle. They looked like an army.

Out of the crowd, a bearded man stepped forward. A youth with a strong resemblance stood sentinel in the space beside him, and Shouda suddenly recognized him as the sarcastic brat he'd met outside the academy. His scarf still trailed the ground.

"I am Sarutobi Asuma, son of the Sandaime and representative of Konoha," the man announced with a look of only thinly veiled abhorrence. "Shouda Tsukene, I'm here to inform you that your right of free passage has been revoked. This is our formal request that you leave."

The captain began, "The Godaime –"

"Regrets to inform you that Konoha does not deal in bodies, you naïve bastard," Asuma ground between his teeth.

"And to keep the hell away from our sensei. He's not for sale!" Konohamaru burst out. A distinct rumble echoed from the crowd behind him. Agreement, warning, hostility. They were standing at the edge of a mob.

Gorge rose in Shouda's throat as he felt control of the situation slip away from him. Desperation welled up like bile, breaking him out in a sweat. No. This was over. Iruka-sensei had to go back to his village. They _needed_ him.

He could tell his men were failing, faltering. They hadn't come here to be captives or begin a war. Ri-Tou, though he'd retained his grip on Iruka's shoulder even without his weapon, visibly faltered. It was instinct that made Shouda lurch forward and snatch their hostage away from his stunned subordinate. He wrapped his thick arm around Iruka from behind, his own weapon whistling as he brought it to bare.

Iruka's blood beat less than a millimeter from open air, a skin's width from a hundred set of eyes. Shouda pricked the vein deliberately, letting a tiny stream flavor the air. "No," he hissed wildly. He hardly know who he was talking to anymore – Iruka, the angry villagers, or himself. Loudly, he snarled, "No! He isn't Konoha. He belongs to Kusagakure now."

"Wrong." Shouda knew that animal growl, though in the broad sunlight, the man's mane was more white than silver. He stalked forward with two eyes like parallel versions of hell – Dante's ice and St. John's fire. Both burned on him; fury. He said, "That man you're threatening is Konoha as much as anyone here. He's bled for Konoha, lived for it, and nearly – very nearly – died for it. He has friends here."

"And family!" Konohamaru crowed.

"He's ours," another answered, a woman with an apron folded over her belly. Murmurs, affirmation: "He's our Sensei."

"So let him go," Genma was using that same reasonable voice he had at the gate, the one that promised violence if provoked. "Or you'll die, oozing. I swear it."

Shouda vibrated, images of his village before his eyes. Burning grass, endless against the red sky. Mass burials and no savior; kage dead. And then a thousand mouths to feed in a land stretched between four enemies. A hundred orphaned faces. Kusagakure needed this healer, teacher. Yet now this force of snarling lions bore their teeth at him, threatening what he had gained for his people.

His needle point hitched higher with his short breaths, but he hardly noticed. Destruction loomed over him like a panting beast and he felt crazy, unsure what to do.

"Shouda." The voice came from so perilously close that the Kusanin flinched, grip tightening compulsively. The sound was right under his chin. To this point, Iruka had remained still under Shouda's grip, his body deliberately relaxed, but now he spoke: "Shouda. If you continue like this, you're going to get your men killed."

"I won't. I'll kill you first."

"If you do, violence may well come to those children for whom you came to seek help. Defying the Hokage has consequences."

Desperation welled. Shouda pressed Iruka closer, drawing the man under his chin in a parody of an embrace. He implored, "Konoha has _dozens_ of teachers. What do you think will become of my village without you?"

The teacher reached up, slowly sliding his fingers over Shouda's bunched fist. Gently, he comforted, "I know. But there are better ways to ask."

The soft voice, so reasonable and so bereft of condemnation, touched Shouda. For long moments he sucked in air, fought his own reaction. It was all scrambled now. His men, and his people. Iruka.

"Let me go, Shouda," Iruka asked him. "Please."

He did. He let go. Two pairs of hands immediately had hold of him, twisting his arms behind him and pushing him – not ungently – to his knees. Beyond him, he saw that Keno and Ri-Tou had been arrested in the same matter-of-fact way. His heart pounded in his head.

"Shouda," he was called by the same voice, and he lifted his face to Iruka. The boy Konohamaru had fastened around his waist, and Hatake Kakashi stood close, his palm clasped firmly over the wound at Iruka's throat to staunch the bleeding. It was making a mess of Iruka's shirt collar, a smear over his shoulder. Yet he met the desperate eyes of his would-be abductor. "I'll talk to the Hokage about Kusagakure," Iruka promised. "Something will happen."

Belief, and relief. Shouda went quietly.

* * *

As they lead the shivering captain away, Kakashi murmured, "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep." He didn't have to vocalize his other thought, the one that ranted, _'And whatever Tsunade says, you're_ _not going anywhere.'_ That went without saying.

A little hoarsely, Iruka answered, "Konoha will do something. After all, they aided us once."

Asuma saved Kakashi from voicing a scathing retort by sauntering up beside them. "Sensei," he said. "I'm glad you're okay. You should know that the Kusanin have been taken into custody until this matter can be cleared up. Although," his eyes flicked sideways. "It seems probable from the captain's behavior that this attempt was spontaneous. It's possible he was acting on his own."

Iruka appealed to him, "Asuma, don't hurt them."

The jounin's eyes were unreadable, but finally his mouth stopped moving around the cigarette he'd been chewing on and he said, "Not unless we're certain this was an act of Kusagakure itself, and for the moment Ibiki doesn't believe that's true."

Kakashi actually felt a measure of tension drain from the man under his hand. "Good."

"You're too forgiving," Kakashi said. He was remembering Shouda's cruel threats, and the knife at Iruka's throat. Shifting his grip, he checked to see that the wound was clotting, and once he was sure, let loose. "He could have easily killed you. The way his hands were shaking…"

"Forgiveness is an essential, human thing," Iruka retorted absently, fluffing Konohamaru's hair as the boy stood fisting his shirt as though he still expected the teacher might get carried off. He grinned at the young man, saying, "You saved me, didn't you? And not even graduated."

The brat puffed up. "I guess," he said proudly. "But I hadta. What would the boss have said if he'd come back and I'd let you get kidnapped?"

It was an interesting question that Kakashi only belatedly considered. What would Naruto have said or done? It was a thought that very nearly made him smirk. Captain Shouda was lucky that he'd only had half the village to face, and not a certain _tame_ blond-haired, half-sealed monster. With a _very_ protective streak.

"Hey, I saved you too," Kakashi felt the need to point out.

"Did you?" Iruka tapped his chin, deliberately oblique.

"Mmhm, yes," Kakashi extrapolated. "I had them figured from the beginning, even before I spoke with Tsunade. They don't call me a genius just because of my superhuman physique and incredible good looks, you know."

"And they don't call you modest at all," Iruka commented.

Putting his nose in the air, Kakashi retaliated, "Pride is a jounin's prerogative."

"Only for the obnoxious ones."

The prompt rebuttal provoked Kakashi to poke Iruka harshly below the ribs. It made the teacher jerk and laugh – and it was a good sound. Still, the copy-nin was feeling relieved enough to loop Iruka's shoulder in mirror of Konohamaru. It felt good to have him safely between them.

He wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

Iruka had too many well wishers.

Kakashi had decided this when he found he could find him by himself. Two full weeks had passed since the Kusanin's attempt to appropriate the shepherd of Konoha, and ever since then Iruka had been flooded with nuisance callers. It was everything he deserved, of course. In this alone, Kakashi agreed with Captain Shouda – Iruka deserved to be recognized for his unique abilities. If not the ones that were still cloistered in secret, then at least for those the world could openly see.

Iruka had just shut the door behind yet another set of visitors after another long day, then put his back to it wearily, slouching with a sigh. Kakashi took this opportunity to come in through the window. He hailed, "Yo!" and watched Iruka roll his eyes.

Then the man started making tea – the good stuff that he kept in the high cabinet. "I kept expecting to see you around every houseplant," the chuunin commented as he drew out utensils.

Iruka really _was_ glad to see him; he was making food. The copy-nin shrugged. "Thought you might be jumpy," he said as he slide into his customary place.

A cheeky look over one shoulder, but Iruka let the teasing pass. "Hrumph," he muttered instead. "I'm starting to think I was born under a bad sign. I attract creepy stalkers. Really, I may have to see the Godaime about a ward."

Kakashi sniffed as though offended, though his mind trickled briefly to the Hokage. She'd been very _stern_ with the Kusanin, very expansive with her authority. However, as ugly an impression as she'd have liked to give, she was far from heartless. Aid had been negotiated for Kusagakure just that morning. Blame had been established upon the appropriate parties.

"Poor Shouda," Iruka had said when he heard, his words flavored with genuine regret. "In the end, he was desperate. He was just trying to help his people."

"Like a lumberjack lances a boil," Kakashi retorted unsympathetically. The thought of the captain still brought a growl to the back of his throat. In spite of the fact that all had gone well, he was acutely aware of all that could have gone wrong. It seemed incredible, but they could easily have lost Iruka within sight of their own village.

Iruka was humming, steam rising from a pot as he emptied in a package of egg noodles. Kakashi groaned. "Ramen? Don't you own anything else?"

A pout and an angry line; only Iruka could do both a once. He snarled, "Don't like it, don't eat it. I accept no complaints from uninvited guests."

"But, Sensei," the jounin whined. "Couldn't we have miso? I know you have some. I checked your refrigerator."

"When have you been in my refrigerator?" Iruka had his hands on his hips now, glowering fearsomely. He made a violent gesture with a chopstick. "You quit sneaking around my house, you hear me?"

Kakashi lounged expansively. "Sneak?" he wondered. "Me?"

A mug slammed down before him. A honeyed scent rose to his nose. Kakashi yanked down his mask. "Mm. Just how I like it."

The chuunin stalked back to the stove, but it was all a farce. Ease with his present company was drawn all down his body. He was grinning behind his turned back, too, Kakashi knew it. "Yes, well," Iruka said. "You've given me enough practice."

'_And so I'll continue,'_ Kakashi offered the silent promise, smirked over his cup rim. Because he intended to haunt Iruka for a long, long time. In the very best spirit, of course. And never quite like a stalker.


End file.
